Life's Scrapbook
by CLAIRE-ROX
Summary: Named for its format. Flashes into the long life of Minerva McGonagall, including the development of her relationship with her eventual husband Albus Dumbledore. All reviews welcome.
1. Year One at Hogwarts: Talent

"And here we have the third of the McGonagall children, I see," said the Sorting Hat, no more than a small voice in Minerva's ear. "Hmm, what should we do with you . . . Well, you're certainly quite determined. I bet a herd of dragons couldn't stop you if you put your mind to it . . . A lot like your brother then. Very much a Gryffindor trait, that. You're mind is exceptional, however. You value knowledge above all else then?"

_Yes, _thought Minerva to herself.

"I thought so."

Minerva blinked in confusion. She had not expected the Sorting Hat to be reading her thoughts. It made sense, she supposed, but it was a little unsettling. Her mind was very much her own place—one with large front gates and a "Do Not Enter" sign plastered to them.

"Perhaps you're more like your sister then. A Ravenclaw."

Minerva felt her stomach turn at the thought. She and her sister were quite opposite. Her sister, was the type of person who flounced around in impractical robes that cost an arm and a leg. Minerva was most certainly not that type of person. The idea of being sorted into Ravenclaw and being permanently thrown into a caste with her sister was revolting. Minerva thought silently that she would rather betray the majority of her heritage—a proud group of Gryffindors—and be sorted into Slytherin than Ravenclaw.

The Sorting Hat seemed to chuckle in her ear. "We have a definite 'no' for Ravenclaw then I see. Well, then. It's quite clear what should be done with you."

And to the entire hall the Sorting Hat shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

/E/E/E/E/E/

"Well, let's see how you've progressed, shall we?"

Minerva allowed herself a small, private smile. She was the only one she could see in the classroom who'd made any progress at all with their toothpick—much less transformed it almost entirely into a needle. She had not expected to get that far with her toothpick at all. Transfiguration was supposed to be terribly complicated and hard. If this lesson was any indication, though, of what was to come then she found it to be pleasantly challenging but by no means terribly hard.

"Do not get frustrated by your lack of results," Professor Dumbledore told them as he walked around the desks peering down through his moon-shaped spectacles at toothpick after toothpick. "As I stated before, transfiguration is one of the most difficult subjects you will be taught here at Hogwarts. Most students found the task you are now just as difficult as you do. If you doubt me, I suggest you ask them."

He fell silent as his eye's fell on Minerva's not-quite needle. A smile spread quickly across his face and he looked up from her work to her face with a distinctly bemused look in his twinkling blue eyes. "This is quite extraordinary, Miss McGonagall. Do you know how many students I've had that have been able to accomplish this much in a such a short amount of time?"

Some very low number, Minerva was sure. It was probably no larger than ten. It was perhaps even as low as five. She decided to stay silent and not hazard a guess, however. It would be terribly embarrassing to guess so low and then find out the number was far higher.

Professor Dumbledore raised an auburn eyebrow at her and she had the sudden and distinct impression that he knew exactly what was going through her head at that very moment. She felt a blush creep onto her fair cheeks at the idea that he was so keenly aware of her somewhat sizable ego.

"Well, it is quite a low number, I assure you. Fifteen points to Gryffindor. Class dismissed. Off you go."

Minerva had to struggle to keep her jaw from unhinging itself. She wanted to know exactly how many other students had done as well as she on their first day. She could not decide whether she should go to her next class with the knowledge set firmly in her head that she was something rare in the world of transfiguration or if she should actually ask Professor Dumbledore what the number was.

"Is there something you need, Miss McGonagall?"

Her eyes focused in on the tall bearded Professor. He was sitting behind his desk with his rather astounding blue eyes twinkling at her in the most amused fashion. She could not decide what to think of it. On the one hand, she felt rather annoyed. He was sitting there simply being amused about his sudden bout of secrecy while she was left to hang. On the other hand, she felt, not for the first time, completely charmed by her Professor. There was something very warm about him and it often made her want to simply break out into a smile. It was a rare thing for anyone to inspire that in Minerva. She was simply not a person who was prone to smiling.

Dumbledore waited patiently as Minerva stared at him with narrowed eyes and a shrewd, calculating look. He wondered whether she would in fact asked the question he knew was burning into her young mind and wondered as well whether or not he should answer it. Talent like hers needed to be encouraged, there was no doubt of that. Any young person, even one with a natural knack such as hers needed care and encouragement to flourish. However, it would simply not do to allow her head to swell too much.

She squared her small shoulders. "Professor, exactly how many students have you had that accomplished what I did?"

The steely glint in Minerva's eyes made Dumbledore's decision for him. A child or not, Minerva McGonagall was not the type of person who would stand for being easily brushed aside. If he did not tell her now, she would simply ask again. It was now or later, and now seemed by far to be the better time.

"Quite frankly, my dear, you are the first."

The determined look on Minerva's face dropped away as though the cable supporting it had been suddenly cut. She'd not expected this. She'd expected to be one of the few: something special, but not _that_ special.

Suddenly a great sense of modesty came over Minerva. She'd studied as much as she could about transfiguration ever since her brother had come home from his first year at Hogwarts, raving about how hard it was and how good he was at it. Surely that had as much to do with her success as anything.

"Professor, I've been studying transfiguration as much as I possibly could. I'm sure that explains—"

"I do not think so."

She stared into his crystal blue with her own hazel ones and simply blinked at him. She'd had, at the minimal, twice as much preparation as any other first year student at Hogwarts. It did not make sense to her that her progress could not be explained away by that.

"But, Professor, I've—"

"Not everything can be found in books, my dear. You could have read all the books in the world on transfiguration and still come to your first day in my class and make no progress whatsoever. Magical theory is all very well and good but it takes something more than that to actually do it."

Minerva felt her entire face turn a blazing red. Professor Dumbledore was right, of course. Just because a muggle or a squib knew magical theory did not mean they could do magic like a witch or a wizard. It took something more and it was highly embarrassing to have forgotten that.

"You have a very special talent, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore told her quietly. "As such you will be held to a higher standard than your peers. You are quite capable of handling the task—but have no illusions, you will fail at times. Even so, I do believe that you will astound even myself from time to time."

Minerva was not certain she could get any redder than she already was. She felt like a moron and Professor Dumbledore was just being so . . . nice. She sincerely wanted to get away and go collect herself.

"Now I do believe that you have a Charms class, starting in a few moments?"

Minerva nodded.

"Well, off you trot then! I'm sure Professor Chantry would be most disappointed to see you late to her class on your very first day."

"Of course, Professor. Thank you."

And she hurried off as fast as her legs would carry her.

/E/E/E/E/E/

"You're reading again?"

Minerva glanced over the top of _Basic Charms_ at her friend Hermes, the shortest second year boy she'd personally ever laid eyes on. He was looking at her in a rather pointedly disgusted way.

"What a waste of time," he moaned at her. "You already know all of that drivel . . . Why don't you grab one of the school's brooms and you can help me practice for nest week's match? I need someone to release the snitch for me after I catch it . . ."

"McGonagall can't do that," said Daniel Weasley rather matter-of- factly.

"Why not?" Minerva asked, somewhat huffily. She could fly very well, if that's what he meant.

"Well, don't first years have transfiguration in five minutes?"

"We don't have transfiguration for another three quarters of an hour, at least," Minerva told him, pushing back her sleeve to check her watch. That reminded her. She had a transfiguration essay to recopy and turn in. Professor Dumbledore had edited their rough draft copies and given them back last week, but she'd been having too much trouble with keeping strait who was who in History of Magic that she had not had an opportunity to make a final copy. She'd not been planning on changing anything in the essay—the Professor had made no corrections and given only compliments—but she still needed to get it done.

She caught sight of her watch. Dan was right. She only had five minutes to get to transfiguration.

"I think you're going to be late," her friend Malcolm, who was tall, blonde and quite attractive, told her.

She swore loudly and shoved her book into her bag. She was out the portrait hole in a flash and running through the hallways in a most un-Minerva-like fashion. Luck was not on her side, however. She ran into Peeves, who did his very best to block her way and pelt her with walnuts (Where had he gotten those?). By the time she reached transfiguration she was already ten minutes late.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your tardiness, Miss McGonagall." Minerva did not have to hear Professor Dumbledore say that he was disappointed to know that he was. Professor Dumbledore had not been lying to her when he'd told her that he had high expectations for her, nor had he meant only in regards to her progress with transfiguration. Until now she had managed to never disappoint him. Now she felt ashamed. Doubly so, if fact, as she had not made a final copy of her essay.

An idea struck her. She had not planned on revising the essay and the Professor had liked it. Maybe she could just turn in the rough draft again . . .

Or maybe he would just dock another five points from Gryffindor if she did that. She most certainly did not want that to happen. It all came down to a gamble.

"Taptree, would you please go around and collect all the essays for me?"

Taptree got up and began collecting the essays starting at the back of the room where he sat. Minerva would be the last one to turn in her essay. It would be right on top of the stack for Professor Dumbledore to see. She would find out in front of the entire class whether or not this was going to fly, assuming she decided to do it.

She pulled the rough draft onto her desk. Better to turn in something than nothing. She'd done the work. She'd simply done it all right the first time. There was nothing wrong with that.

Taptree picked up her essay, placing it right on top of the stack of unrolled parchment, and handed the stack to Professor Dumbledore. Minerva braced herself for what was to come, prepared to take what could be a possible punishment with a dignity and sense of responsibility that was uncommon in witches her age.

The Professor glanced down at the stack. A small laugh escaped his lips.

"Quite brave, Miss McGonagall. Ten points to Gryffindor."

She heard some mutterings move through the classroom. People wanting to know what she'd done to get Gryffinder ten points. Most people were whispering proclamations that obviously shown her transfiguration brilliance yet again. A few Ravenclaws, with whom Gryffindor had double transfiguration, disagreed, however. One Ravenclaw girl behind Minerva went so far as to say that it was an excuse because "she's his favorite student."

Minerva hated to think of herself as Dumbledore's favorite student, but at times she wondered if people like that Ravenclaw girl were right. She was Dumbledore's favorite student. She'd even heard other teachers talking about some of the amazing things "Dumbledore's protege," as she become known to the staff, had done. Perhaps her status was giving her an unfair advantage over her fellow students . . .

She shook the thought from her head. She earned everything she got. She knew that and she knew that that was what Professor Dumbledore expected of her. She got more rewards, but more was expected of her as well. There was nothing unfair about it.

She looked up at Professor Dumbledore as he handed out individual baby chickens to individual students. He gave her one of the small yellow puffs and a kind smile. Having grown accustomed to this kind of attention from him, she not only did not blush, but actually favored him with a rather enchanting smile of her own.

Her mother would have died of happiness had she seen this, Minerva was sure. June McGonagall was constantly telling her youngest daughter that she was such a pretty girl and that she should really smile more. It was not something that Minerva did very often, yet somehow Professor Dumbledore managed to make smiling more than an occasional occurrence. She found she could not help but smile when her favorite Professor was around.

"Today, we will be working to turn these baby chicks," he indicated one of the small yellow puffs with his wand, "into a crystal sphere. I do not expect all of you to finish this," here he flashed Minerva a look telling her that he did, in fact, expect this of her, "but all of you should have made significant progress by the time the bell rings."

With those words Minerva set herself to her task, determined to have finished by the time the class was half over. She had an exam in Charms for which she wanted to study more.


	2. Year Three at Hogwarts: Animagus

Minerva took a deep breath and called into the all but empty classroom. "Professor?"

Albus Dumbledore looked up from his desk and the papers he was grading. Standing in just outside his doorway, peering inside was Minerva McGonagall, her long black hair in a pull back and standing, he noticed for the first time, a good inch and a half taller than she had when she'd left Hogwarts last year for the summer.

He smiled. "What is it you need, my dear girl?"

"Well, Professor," she began, walking into the classroom and up toward his desk, "honestly I came to ask you for a rather large favor."

Albus was intrigued. This was not the sort of girl who asked for favors or help of any kind. He wondered how big this favor would be and how much, despite Minerva's proud, straight bearing as she walked toward him, asking him to help her might be bothering her.

"What favor is this?"

"I want to become an animagus, Professor, and you're the best person I know of to help me," she stated resolutely. Clearly she'd thought about this request for some time.

Albus Dumbledore was not accustomed to being surprised by the actions of other people, especially not thirteen year old girls. The one standing in front of him, however, the student he favored the most and whom he felt he should have been best able to predict the behavior of, had just done exactly that. He was silent for a few moments, collecting his scattered thoughts.

"That is a very unusual request from a third year student," he told her.

"I know."

"Most people do not become animagi until well into adulthood."

She nodded. She knew that it was a complicated, hard process. She also knew that both she and Professor Dumbledore knew she could do it now, if she just had the right teacher. Professor Dumbledore was quite obviously the man for the job. She'd never met a wizard more powerful than he. Even her own father, a wizard of some distinguishment, could not compare. She'd wanted to become an animagi for simply years—ever since she'd read about them in a book at eight years old—and she knew that Professor Dumbledore could help her to do that right now. All he needed to do was agree.

All of this seemed to have occurred to Professor Dumbledore as well. She could feel as well as see his intense blue eyes considering her carefully. She held her breath. She knew he had confidence in her. She knew that she was his personal "protege" as people called her but she did not know if he would agree to do this for her now, or tell her that she needed to wait a few more years.

A small sigh escaped his lips and Minerva knew that he was at least not going to simply dismiss her request and send her away.

"What do your parents think of this? I cannot imagine your mother would approve. I seem to remember her worrying about everything in her school days . . . I do not imagine that has changed, especially where her children are concerned."

Minerva did her best not to gape at her professor. He'd taught her mother? But that would make him at least sixty. She knew it was quite possible for him to be that old, but . . . he did not act that old.

_He doesn't look it, either, _she thought, scanning his face for small, telltale signs of his age. She found a few, but his age was still not readily apparent.

Again his ability to seemingly read her mind showed itself. She'd become very used to Professor Dumbledore over the last two years and in fact felt great affection toward him but

that . . . talent, or whatever it was, never failed to surprise her. On occasion she even found it slightly unsettling.

"I am far older than I seem, I promise you." He smiled. "However, I do not wish to detract from the matter at hand. I cannot help you to become an animagus if your parents disapprove."

"My mother will hate it," she promised him, "but it doesn't really matter what she says if father says yes. He'll convince her."

_He always does_, she thought.

"I see that you have not asked then."

Minerva nodded curtly. "I didn't see the point if you said 'no.' My mother and I get along badly enough as it is."

"I see," said Professor Dumbledore with a slight nod. He pinned her with a crystal blue stare. "So then the question is, will I do it?"

Minerva stood rooted to her spot on the floor and held her breath in anticipation. Professor Dumbledore's eyes bored into her, evaluating her. She held her own gaze steady. She was staring right into his eyes for what seemed like hours. For a moment the silly thought that his eyes were very pretty crossed her mind, but it was pushed away nearly instantly by her anticipation of his response.

"_If_," he began, "your parents allow it, I will help you."

Minerva felt a smile bloom on her lips. She could not be happier.

"However, I must warn you: becoming an animagus is very difficult. There is a reason that there are only five registered animagi right now and that all of them waited until they'd reached adulthood to become animagi. That said, however," Professor Dumbledore's eyes took on a look that Minerva only saw when he spoke to her as her mentor, "you are quite capable of doing this. It will likely take you three or four years to do it but you will succeed. You have an extraordinary knack for transfiguration and you are more dedicated than one is used to seeing in a student—especially one so talented. I often find that the more impressive a student is, the lazier they become."

Minerva felt a warm rush of pride as he told her these things. It was true that Professor Dumbledore was never unwilling to give her praise but it always felt nice to hear him say it. She respected Professor Dumbledore greatly and compliments from him meant more to her than did many. Barring a compliment from her father or older brother, who were both affectionate enough though somewhat critical, there was nothing better.

It suddenly struck her that becoming an animagus at all, much less so young, could gain her very vocal approval from both of those family members. A sense of excitement began to pulse through her. "I promise you I will be working very hard on this, Professor."

"My dear, I have no doubt about that."

"When can we start?" she asked, and for the first time since the conversation had started Minerva's emotions began to show on her young face.

"I daresay that we may begin as soon as I have received notification of your parents' approval."

/E/E/E/E/E/

"Have you gotten it yet?"

"It's been five minutes," Minerva admonished Hermes. "And you will be more than able to see when the mail comes. You know what it looks like. It's a load of owls. They go flying across the hall to find people and deliver things. Edwin is always right behind them, bearing no package or letter but wanting to see where all the other owls are going and following them, crashing into any number of things on the way. Isn't that right, Dan?"

She turned very seriously toward Dan Weasley, her face betraying none of her teasing. To all the world it could easily appear that Minerva McGonagall was being completely serious. Dan turned scarlet at her words, clashing with his hair—which, though it technically might have been described as something like strawberry blonde, was in all actuality quite orange. His owl was daft to the point that one could say it had insect-like intelligence and it very well might be insulting to the insects of the world.

Hermes snickered. "You should give up on that owl and just go claim Minerva's cat. Then the two of you really would be a set."

While it probably would have sounded outrageously silly to most people, Hermes was quite accurate in his description of Dan and Minerva's cat, Kiril. They had matching color schemes—orange hair, or fur in Kiril's case and bluish-yellow eyes. This worked well for both of them. Dan had taken a great liking to Kiril, as he did to many orange things, when Minerva had first brought him with her to Hogwarts as a kitten. It was always funny to see them traipsing about the Gryffindor common room together, Kiril laid across Dan broad shoulders looking down as the rest of the world and purring contentedly.

"He's got a good plan there, mate," Malcolm agreed.

"I think I'll keep my cat, thank you," Minerva told them both.

"Are they bothering you about your kitty again, Minerva?"

"Of course they are," Minerva responded. She turned to face the possessor of the voice, a Ravenclaw prefect with whom she considered herself to be quite good friends. "Sit with us, Muriel."

Muriel glanced first at the Ravenclaw table and then at Dan, who was still red faced and currently very occupied with his plate of eggs. Minerva happened to know that Muriel had fancied Dan for at least the past two years. He was too daft to notice, though. Especially not while he was still pining after that dream girl of his, one of his fellow Gryffindor prefects, Rose Meade. Minerva suspected that he had a thing for red heads, he was in love with some writer or another who also had flaming hair like Rose's.

"All right," she sighed fakely. "I suppose someone has to protect you from these bullies."

"What!" Hermes shrieked indignantly. "We were joking around! Jesus Christ . . ."

Minerva fought the urge to shake her head. Hermes was also quite oblivious to Muriel's crush on Dan. What seemed incredibly obvious to Minerva was way above both boys' head. She honestly wondered how they could both be so dumb.

"So was I!" responded Muriel instantaneously, green eyes wide. There was an amazing look of innocence about her at times like this, though Minerva was by no means fooled. Muriel was her greatest source of advice in this school. She was almost like an older sister—a proper older sister.

Hermes sighed and rolled his eyes. Deciding not to say anything, he instead began to concentrate on his toast, inhaling it as quickly as he could. It amazed Minerva that someone as tiny as that could eat so much. Minerva was quite tall, she knew, but she still out-heighted Hermes by about three or four inches. It made him one hell of a seeker though. He'd missed the snitch once in all of the games that Minerva had seen or participated in here at Hogwarts.

"So, have you been studying for your O.W.L.s a lot?" Minerva asked Muriel, by way of making conversation. Malcolm looked up from his plate and began paying her very rapt attention.

"Well," Muriel began, but what she was planning on saying Minerva did not find out. Instead whatever she had been planning on saying was replaced with a gleeful cry of, "Mail's here!"

Hermes, Dan, Malcolm and Minerva all looked up as one to the flood of birds that poured into the great Hall. Minerva began to scan quickly through the hundred of owls that circled against the ceiling of the Great Hall, which was foreboding and grey, looking for the McGonagall family owl. Her parents had sent their response to her request for permission to become an animagus and it should be arriving that day. Her brother had been by Hogwarts to consult one of the teachers about ancient curses only yesterday and had told her as much. Ever since then, Minerva and her friends had been eagerly awaiting the nest morning's mail.

"There he is," said Hermes, jumping up eagerly from the table and pointing at a rather handsome screech owl.

Malcolm stared up at where he was pointed for a few seconds, lazily rubbing the rather healthy looking blonde goatee he was growing. His eyes then fell on a large eagle owl which seemed to be flopping through the air towards the table. "There's Edwin right behind him."

Hermes laughed loudly at the owl as Dan groaned and stood up, preparing to catch the owl in the air. Dan had learned early on in his Hogwarts career, according to his own account of this, that this was a completely necessary measure, or the entirety of the Gryffindor table could be cleared of its food by his idiot owl.

The screech owl landed near Minerva and proffered her its leg, upon which was attached a roll of parchment. Malcolm cleared her book from where it sat propped up against a dish of fruit as she untied the parchment, setting it with care in her bag. Malcolm shared Minerva's studious bent and often put away her books for her when she was otherwise occupied. Hermes thought that they were both quite mad.

She gave the owl a few short, unconscious pats on its feathery head and quickly unrolled the parchment. She read the letter as quickly as she could, eager have it affirmed that her father had come through for her and made her whims a possibility yet again.

_My sweet Minerva,_

_After much argument and persuasion, I have convinced your mother that allowing Professor Dumbledore to help you become an Animagus is both a good idea and preferable to you doing it by yourself a few years down the line. As such, I've enclosed a note of permission with this letter, so that your professor can be assured of our approval. I assume you will be beginning with all haste. I have never known you to be at all patient._

_Have fun, Poppet._

_With love,_

_Your Father_

"Is that it?"

Minerva looked up and saw Odin Pike, a fifth year Slytherin beater, lumbering up toward their group. He was a good friend of Dan's and though he could be something of a prat from time to time Minerva found him to be quite tolerable and even, at times, pleasant despite his Slytherin status. He had no real loyalties to his house and as he was such a large fellow that no one challenged him.

"It is," she told him.

"And? And?" Hermes was suddenly reminding her of Senora Spectacular's Bouncing Bubbles. "What's it _say_?"

"Well, it says yes, obviously," said Malcolm, who'd just glanced over Minerva's shoulder. "Just like Minerva's been telling us it would." Here he graced Minerva with a rather impressive smile. Minerva returned a small one of her own. Malcolm never failed to support all of Minerva's endeavors or have anything but the greatest confidence that she would succeed. She didn't quite understand it, but she valued his opinion enough to be grateful to have his confidence. In some ways they were two of a kind.

"Golly gee, this is exciting," piped up Hermes. Minerva's companions laughed. Hermes liked imitating the way muggle children of their age spoke. He thought it was quite silly. Minerva agreed, but thought it no less silly when Hermes imitated them. She did not laugh.

"I wonder what kind of animagus you'll be, Minerva," Muriel wondered aloud.

Dan piped up immediately. "Ten gallions says she's a cat." He scrutinized her for a moment. "She's always seemed very cat-like. Especially when she yawns. You guy ever seen her yawn?"

"Minerva yawns?" Hermes questioned, then laughed.

"I hope she's something big like a bear," Odin voiced. "It'd be quite funny, some skinny little girl like her turning into a massive bear at will. Think of how it would scare the first years." An evil glint had appeared in Odin's eye.

Minerva shot him a disapproving glare. She would be scaring no one with her animagus form—no other students at least. It was a highly improper idea as well as against at least the spirit of the school's rules.

A rather animated discussion about Minerva's becoming an animagus sprang up quickly, and soon much of the Gryffindor table had joined in. Minerva could feel her excitement for the task swelling up inside of her, as well as a lot of expectation being piled on her shoulder's. No one doubted that Dumbledore's favorite could do this. She supposed this should have made her very nervous. Perhaps later it would, but right now all it did was strengthen her resolve to do it and increase her anticipation of the sheer challenge this presented.

This was an amazing thing. She'd wanted to do this for so long and now she was finally doing it. Five years she'd waited to start the process and now here it finally was: the beginning of her long road. Best of all, Professor Dumbledore would be right there, traveling along side her. She could think of no one better with whom could spend the hours upon end that this would require. Even before now she knew that she'd spent more time with him than any other student, as he took time out of his busy schedules for the specific purpose of teaching her things that he felt she was ready for but her classmates were not. That had been a handful of times throughout the year. Now all of the sudden her time with him would increase tenfold.

She felt a warm sensation build in her at the thought and looked up at Professor Dumbledore at his place at the staff table. He did not look at her, or notice even out of the corner of his eye that she was looking at him. He seemed to be deep into some sort of conversation with Professor Merrythought.

For the first time without him doing so first, Minerva smiled at him.


	3. Year Three at Hogwarts: Quidditch

" . . . and McGonagall make a spectacular interception—I think she was actually hanging upside down there for a couple of seconds. She's rather impressive for a third year, heh heh heh

She passes to Blume . . ."

Minerva circled up and away then sped along in front of Blume, positioned well for a pass, should he decide to make one. He was getting close to the goalposts. He was going to score. She could feel in her bones and blood, all of which sang at the thought of scoring again. Blume was right on form today. They all were.

It was a good thing too. Three of their team members had been injured and unable to compete during their match against Slytherin. Minerva herself had been quietly brooding in the hospital wing from a botched animagus lesson with Professor Dumbledore. She would have kicked herself if she'd been physically able to.

Now they needed to win this match by 180 points or they would not win the Quidditch Cup. The thought was unbearable. They'd been off by ten points the year before, due to Minerva's botched goal as the snitch had been spotted. She's screwed up very both this year and the last, but at least she could fix this year. She was not going to be the reason Gryffindor lost the Quidditch Cup two years in a row. If she did she was not sure she'd be able to forgive herself. Failure was not now and had never been an option.

Blume made a rather impressive feint and then put the quaffle through the far goalpost with a grace Minerva greatly admired. Adam Blume was doubtlessly the most graceful person on the Gryffindor team and, in Minerva's opinion, on any of the Hogwarts teams. It almost seemed odd to find someone with his grace playing quidditch. At least, until he forgot himself and ran into something. Despite his grace, he was an amazing klutz. At times it was hard to believe that he was not two people: one coordinated and one not.

Their third chaser, a short fourth year girl named Anne Tibbs, took possession of the quaffle as it was thrown back into play by Hufflepuff's keeper, Higgons. She performed a neat u-turn and headed back near the goalposts.

"A nice save by Higgons. Too bad for Gryffindor. Guess there's always next year, eh, guys? Heh heh heh."

_Stupid, biased announcer . . ._ Minerva thought sourly as she zoomed after the Hufflepuff captain, Balthazar Hawkins, who'd been passed the quaffle by his teammates. He was nearly impossible to simply take the quaffle from and he was a player whose true talent lay in making long and amazing runs across the field to the opposing team's goalposts, so he did not often pass. It was up to Gryffindor's own captain and keeper, Aries Hunter, to keep him from scoring. That was no mean feat, Minerva knew. Hawkins was a big guy—somewhere up in the realm of two meters tall and 90 kilos—and he threw _hard_. He was tough too. Minerva had once seen him take a bludger straight to the ribcage and not drop the quaffle. He'd instead made what looked to be a rather painful pass to Masters, who'd easily scored against the stunned Ravenclaw keeper, Ceres Huang.

The fact was that Hawkins was, deservedly so, something of a legend amongst Hogwarts students. He was an amazing quidditch player, one of the best that Hogwarts had seen in years, as well as Head Boy. He and Aries had been in fierce competition with one another since they'd first laid eye on one another in some class or another. At least that was how Aries told it. In any case, Minerva knew for a fact that they were competitive _now_ and that Aries liked nothing better than making a spectacular save against Hawkins. She saw him preparing himself in front of the goalposts, ready to nip the quaffle right out of the air.

"And Kirch _nails _Hawkins with a bludger right as he's about to fire off a shot at the Gryffindor goalposts. Bungled the poor guy's throw. Bet that'll leave a bruise too, big guy like Kirch, heh heh heh."

Aries was probably disappointed to not be able to make his game-stopping save, Minerva knew, but she would never say anything about it. He was nothing if not a team man. A win for the team was far more important to him than personal victories. He actually had a tendency to go into a rather foul temper when the team lost.

Minerva managed to give Zebulon Kirch a congratulatory nod before she moved quickly off to the other end of the pitch. Tibbs currently had possession. Hobbs managed to snatch the quaffle from her hands, but a moment later Blume had zoomed in and taken the quaffle right back. He passed it back to Tibbs, right before he was nearly unseated by a bludger, courtesy of Hufflepuff beater Hecate Greene.

"That looks like it really hurt there. That's all right, Blume'll bounce right back. He's a real magnet for pain there, especially in the form of squirrels or pixies, heh heh heh. I'm sure we _all_ remember that incident in Care of . . ."

Minerva quickly quit paying attention to the commentary. She, like everyone else, knew that story quite well and it had no place being told by an announcer as a match was going on. Moreover, she'd just received the quaffle from Tibbs. She pelted toward the goalposts as fast as she could and sent the quaffle whizzing past Higgons' ear and into the goalpost.

The announcer had had to stop right in the middle of his story about Blume's most comical moment. "Ten points to Gryffindor! That brings us up to 70-50, with Gryffindor in the lead. They still need ten more points and the snitch if they're going to take the Cup, though, so Hufflepuff still has a chance."

That was the third time she'd scored that day. Minerva had been doing great—probably very much due to her perceived responsibility for losing the team the Cup the year before and the match against Slytherin earlier in the year. Moreover, she was quite determined to not see the Cup not go to Hufflepuff for the fifth year in a row. She wanted to see it take its _proper_ place in Professor Dumbledore's study.

Blume intercepted a pass between Masters and Hobbs and turn quickly about to face the Hufflepuff goalposts and a waiting Higgons. Reading one another's minds in an instantaneous fashion, the Gryffindor chasers quickly made a formation and began using some combination passes. It was a risky tactic to try—some of the passes involved the Gryffindor chaser jumping clear off their brooms to take possession of the quaffle and then pass it again—but they not yet had any major disasters in employing them and when they did it right it was practically impossible for the opposing team's chasers to gain possession of the quaffle.

As she dodged a bludger aimed at her head and kicked the quaffle over to Tibbs, Minerva caught a glimpse of Hermes as he darted about the field, in search of the golden snitch. He'd likely not found it yet, though Minerva knew that even if he had he would let it go. He wanted the Quidditch Cup. The only reason he'd caught it last year was in order to keep the other seeker from catching it and thus adding insult to the injury of losing the Cup.

The Quaffle flowed smoothly between the Gryffindor chasers, at times no more than a red blur in the air—Tibbs, Blume, Tibbs, Minerva, Blume, Tibbs, then back to Minerva yet again. The goalposts were not far away. They were quite in range to score. Once they did Hermes could finally catch the snitch whenever he wanted.

A bludger hit Minerva squarely in her left shoulder blade and she let out a cry of pain as the quaffle slipped out of her hands and Hobbs zoomed in underneath her to catch it. She could have killed herself. She'd lingered for too long and allowed herself to be hit by a bludger. It was absolutely _unacceptable_. She'd done it again. She'd screwed up.

She shook off the ache in her shoulder as best she could and went speeding off after the other five chasers as they moved toward the other goalposts. Tibbs managed to come out from underneath Hobbs and intercept his pass to Hawkins. She made excellent headway with the quaffle back down toward the Hufflepuff goalposts as a very determined Masters tailed her closely. She narrowly avoided his attempts to steal the quaffle from her hands and Minerva thought that if she'd been a larger and slightly slower person she probably would have been unable to avoid them.

It was all for naught however, and it was as Masters duplicated Tibbs own move to retake the quaffle that Minerva caught sight of Hermes and the small blonde Hufflepuff chaser. They were in a mad dash for what could only be the snitch and Minerva saw Hermes doing his best to block the other seeker so the snitch could escape. He was not doing well and his actions were getting increasingly desperate. He might soon be forced to do as he'd done last year and catch the snitch before they'd secured the Cup.

It was all just like last year. To Minerva's utter guilt and horror she saw the match of the year before nearly duplicating itself. She had to do something to stop that. She couldn't let it happen again. She couldn't fail this team. She couldn't fail Gryffindor and she could especially not fail Professor Dumbledore. Not again.

She was off like a shot towards the quaffle as Masters made a pass to Hawkins. It was going to fall about five meters short of Hawkins and she had the perfect opportunity to scoop up the quaffle and make a long shot at a goal. Hopefully she would make the goal, and do so before the snitch was caught. She pushed her broom harder, trying to gain every ounce of speed from it, all the while her mind desperately reeling against the idea that she would fail.

She dove in between Masters and Hawkins, catching the quaffle with her fingertips. She immediately turned towards the Hufflepuff goalposts and launched the quaffle as hard as she could towards one of the goalposts. The ball had only just barely left her hands when something far too large to be a bludger slammed strait into her. Hawkins had also noticed that the pass would be short and had been moving it to catch it. He'd not been able to stop for Minerva and had slammed into her.

The entire thing felt to Minerva as though it were occurring in slow motion. She first noticed that she'd been hit and as the momentum pushed her sideways off her broom, her first thoughts were annoyed observations that without her on it, her broom was uncontrolled and likely to be damaged or lost.

It was not until she was actually beginning to move downward that it actually occurred to Minerva that she was going to fall, and then subsequently hit the ground, a true testament to exactly how quickly it actually happened. There was no time for anyone to do anything to slow or break Minerva's fall. No one had been expecting her to scoop up the quaffle the way she had and then no more than two seconds later she had fallen three stories and hit the ground with a medley of sickening cracks. There was not even the time for anyone to pull out a wand.

The crowd was stunned into silence, staring at Minerva as she lay in a scarlet heap of quidditch robes on the field's miraculously green grass. Everyone forgot about the quaffle that had soared from Minerva's hand and through the middle hoop as well as the struggling snitch in Hermes' hand. All of their attention was focused on Minerva and the teachers running out onto the field towards her unmoving form.

A streak of auburn lead the pack of five or so adult witches and wizards that were moving to Minerva's aid as their colleague's went and took charge of the students in the stands. Professor Dumbledore's heart was in his mouth as he ran toward his favorite and most talented student. A fall like that could kill a person and it seemed hard to imagine that a skinny girl of barely fourteen years had survived.

He was only a meter away when he heard a low moan emit from the figure on the ground. And he briefly marveled at the fact that Minerva McGonagall was not only still alive but still conscious as well. He was not certain how she'd managed to remain conscious after that but felt that it could only be a good sign.

"Minerva?" he asked, leaning down beside her. "Minerva, how do you feel?" It seemed a silly question—obviously she would be in immense pain—but it was also the most pertinent at the moment.

"My back, side, head and neck all hurt," se answered in a voice so quiet that even leaning close to her Albus could barely make out the words she was speaking. "In short I'm really not doing well at all."

Minerva tried to brush her thick curtain of black hair out of her face with the arm she had not landed on at all so she could see and speak to Professor Dumbledore with greater ease. Her movements were stiff and even moving her good arm was causing tremendous fiery pain to course through he upper body. Professor Dumbledore helped her pull her hair away from her face and it was an amazing relief to feel the brush of his fingers against her drawn, paper-white face. Finally a pleasurable sensation that she could concentrate on instead of the pain. It was a terrible shame that it only lasted a few brief seconds. At least her lower body was mercifully free of pain, though it was hard to notice that due to the cacophony of pain the rest of her body felt.

"I'm going to take you up to the hospital wing, Minerva," he told her. "It's possible that was may have to transfer you to St. Mungo's after that but I promise that you will be quite all right but the time all is said and done."

"Mmm," was the only response Minerva gave and Professor Dumbledore could see from the stained determination on Minerva's strikingly white face that she was doing her best to remain conscious. He conjured a stretcher below her and began hurrying her up the hill and towards the castle.

He turned to the short, brunette flight instructor, who'd refereed the match. "Persephone, fly ahead of us to the hospital wing and warn Tyr that we have a student coming up from the quidditch field."

Madame Persephone Rayce gave a short nod and mounted her broomstick. She stole a stunned look at Minerva on the stretcher, then took off toward the castle.

Albus hurried himself and Minerva toward the castle. She would be quite fine as soon as she arrived in the hospital wing where her numerous injuries could receive some attention. Until then she was still in some danger. There was no telling what might be happening to her body as a result of that fall, a thought that Albus hated. Minerva had managed to endear herself to him even beyond what could be accounted for by her status as his most talented student. This girl was someone special and it was easy for Albus to see that. She was capable of many great things and would make herself someone important. That was the reason he'd come to view her as a sort of protege or apprentice rather than his mere student. Beyond that, the girl herself was someone Albus found to be quite companionable and easy to get along with. In some ways he was finding that she made herself something of a friend as well.

The school healer—actually a nurse whom no one had the heart to refer to by a term so feminine—was waiting at the door nearest the hospital wing when they arrived. He held the door open for Dumbledore and the stretcher and hurried with them up a flight of stairs to the hospital wing.

"I need to know exactly what happened," he told Dumbledore. "Persephone came to warn me that you were bringing up a student who'd fallen from their broom but I couldn't get much else from her. I told her to go check on her little boy just to get her away from the hospital wing by the time you got here. She's absolutely hysterical."

He leaned over to examine the student on the stretcher and caught sight of Minerva's pale face, which was beginning to form bruises from where she'd been hit by Hawkins' shoulder. "Oh, Minerva . . ."

"I took a pretty nasty spill of my broom, Mr. Farron," she told him hoarsely. "I think I broke a number of my ribs."

Talking took a lot out of Minerva. Her head was swimming and staying conscious was becoming increasingly harder.

"She collided with Mr. Hawkins in midair and fell 10 meters to the ground. No one had time to catch her or slow her fall."

Tyr Farron gaped at Minerva. No wonder she looked half dead. Surviving a free fall like that was no small thing. It said a lot about young McGonagall's resilience that she was alive and conscious.

"I'm fairly certain she's done a lot more than break a few ribs, then. There are probably ruptured organs and internal bleeding. She may even have damaged her spinal cord. Minerva, can you move your legs?"

She had not given any thought to moving her legs since she'd fallen. Legs were for getting up and walking. She was in far too much pain to do either of those things. Now that she'd thought to try and move them, however, she was finding that she simply could not. Her foggy mind reeled with confusion. Why couldn't she move her legs?

"Why won't they move?"

Her voice was thick and sluggish. She felt unconsciousness looming darkly at the edges of her vision. She fought it off as best as she could.

"Some sort of back injury then," Mr. Farron muttered. It was impossible for Minerva to tell whether he was speaking to her, himself or Professor Dumbledore. He seemed to be staring vaguely at the ground. His eyes suddenly locked with Dumbledore's and it was very apparent at whom his next statement was directed. "Non-curse injuries or no, I can't take care of all of these. We need to get her to St. Mungo's."

Minerva had begun to float in and out of consciousness, only catching snatches of what was said and comprehending very little.

"I thought we might," Dumbledore nodded and glanced a tad anxiously down at Minerva, who was still lying on the conjured stretcher. "I shall go inform them that their services are needed. May I use your fireplace?"

"Of course, of course," Farron told him. "I'll do what I can for her in the meantime."

Dumbledore began to quickly move toward's Farron's office.

"Professor . . ." Minerva's good arm made a painful jerking motion as though to grab at Dumbledore. She did not want him to go. She wanted him to stay here with her. Someone else could go. She needed him here.

"He won't be long," Mr. Farron told her comfortingly. "Now drink this. It should keep you from dying of blood loss. Then I want you to do your best to relax."

She complied as best she could with what he'd said, drinking from the proffered goblet and then lying down as she waited for Professor Dumbledore, doing her best to remain conscious. He seemed to be taking forever, despite the fact that she found more and more frequently that the world went briefly back and she was missing snatches of time.

By the time Professor Dumbledore had returned, Minerva had completely lost consciousness.


	4. Year Three at Hogwarts: Recovery

The first thing Minerva saw when she regained consciousness hours later at St. Mungo's was Professor Dumbledore, sitting in a chair next to her bed, reading a book. She stared at him and wondered how long he'd been there. Perhaps he'd been there ever since she'd arrived here, waiting for her to revive . . . Oh, that was a pleasant thought. It put butterflies into her stomach.

Minerva suddenly realized that she could actually _feel_ the butterflies. Feeling in her lower body had returned. They must have fixed her back. She wiggled her toes pleasantly, delighting in the fact that they moved as though nothing had happened.

"I see you have awakened," said Professor Dumbledore, looking over the top of his book.

She nodded and began to sit up in the bed. Dumbledore's firm hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"According to the healers, you are to lie down and rest. No doubt you feel far better than you did when you came, but only so much magic can be used to heal a person at one time. Apparently your fall was disastrous enough for you to still retain injuries."

With that said he pushed her gently back onto the bed and smiled at her, his blues eyes twinkling. For the few moments that Dumbledore's hand was on her shoulder, all questions of where her family—all doubtlessly somewhat anxious about her condition—was or any other stray thought at all, were pushed from her mind and she allowed herself to enjoy having his hand right there. There would be nothing more pleasing than if it stayed there all day, than if he stayed with her all day. Waking up to the sight of her professor was like an incredible dream and she simply could not help imagining him finding another teacher to teach his classes all day and spending his entire day alone with her as she recovered.

The hand was gone all too soon, but the fantasies remained for a few seconds longer, until her brother Jove walked into the room. Her features betrayed none of the antagonism she felt towards him at that exact moment, but it burned inside of her. She did not want intrusions right now. Especially not those of the brotherly sort.

"Hey, there," he said. "I'm glad to see you're finally awake. Mother will be crying with relief when she hears."

Minerva could just bet she would. It was disgusting. The time to cry with relief was, in Minerva's eyes, hours ago when the healers would have told her family that she was going to be just fine. By that standard she should have easily been spared what would undoubtably be her mother's unseemly shower of tears. Unfortunately for Minerva, however, her mother was prone to letting her emotions carry her right away with them. Her sister was very much the same. It was something that Minerva was careful to _never _let happen to herself. It was simply insufferable.

"You gave us quite a scare, Min," her brother told her. "What on earth could you possibly have been thinking?"

"I wanted to win the Quidditch Cup," she stated simply. It was then that it suddenly struck her that she did not actually know whether or not they had indeed won the Cup. She'd fallen and never found out whether she scored or if Hermes had somehow been beaten to the snitch. She turned quickly to Professor Dumbledore. "Professor, _did_ we win the Cup?"

"You've _got_ to be kidding!" Jove roared. Minerva ignored him and continued to look at Professor Dumbledore.

"Indeed you did," he answered. "Although I do believe that the Headmaster is waiting to award the Cup until you are able to be present, at my request. It seems only appropriate that you be there, given the circumstances."

"Surely not because she nearly _died_ making sure they got it, Professor?" Jove seethed through gritted teeth, his voice thick with a harsh sarcasm and his hazel eyes flashing green with anger.

Minerva pinned her brother with her gaze, commanding an amazing amount of fear and respect for a fourteen year old, her own eyes blazing emerald. "If you don't cease with your _idiotic_ insinuations that I intentionally risked my life then I swear I will turn you into a turkey."

"I hate to interrupt a family squabble," said Dumbledore, rising from his chair. "But I think it wise that you continue it later. As you both seemed to have noted, Minerva's recovering from quite a serious fall. She's supposed to be relaxed and resting."

Jove looked taken aback and even a little embarrassed. Professor Dumbledore was right, of course. What was he thinking, egging Min on like that when she should be resting? He was right, of course. It was stupid to care enough about some crazy sport that it landed you in St. Mungo's, but now was not the time.

He glanced at his younger sister, whose lips were pressed so firmly together in anger that they were white. She was normally something of a stickler for following rules, but it looked to him that she was mad enough at him that if someone were to lay a wand within her grasp she might just make good on her promise about turning him into a turkey. She could do it, he knew. Transfiguration had been his best subject, and in her third year of school she was already better at it than he'd been in his fifth.

He pushed his wand a bit deeper into his pocket and took a seat near the one Professor Dumbledore had just abandoned moments before. Minerva's still emerald green eyes flashed at him dangerously. She was still itching to have it out with him over his idea that her quidditch passions were either stupid or dangerous. It had been a freak accident. She'd probably live another hundred years and never see anything even similar happen to anyone else.

Jove broke the descending silence first. "Mother, Father and Maia shouldn't be too much longer, Min. Father and I finally managed to convince Mother that she should eat some dinner about a half an hour ago. Both Mother and Maia have been so anxious over you that I doubt they'll be too much longer. Mother especially. She kept worrying every two minutes that you'd wake up without her there."

"Guess I proved her right," Minerva sighed, and her eyes began to return to the deep blue that represented their normal coloring as her anger abated in favor of the feeling that her mother's worries would make her worst nightmares pale in comparison.

"Unfortunately," said Jove with a nod. "She may forget in her happiness to see you awake. At least she will if we're lucky."

And with that, the last of Minerva's anger at her brother wilted, as they fell into their normal sense of comradery. The two got along very well, despite the eight year gap in their ages. They were very similar, really, and they differed on few matters—quidditch being the most obvious and prominent of those matters. Jove, just as studious as Minerva, had never gotten the attraction of the sport. To him, it seemed a waste of time that could be better put to studying, or now that he was older, research and experiments. Minerva, however, had inherited their father's love of the sport. She found it captivating and exciting, though no more so than studying. She merely had two passions where Jove had one.

Right now, however, the idea of their frazzled mother running into the room and scooping up Minerva, crying and babbling furiously had pushed their quidditch conflict far from both of their minds. They were united again, just as they nearly always were.

"Since it seems that you two will not be transfiguring each other into various animals, perhaps I should go inform your mother that you are awake?" Professor Dumbledore suggested.

"She would really appreciate that, Professor," said Jove.

"Then I shall do just that." And with a smile at Minerva he left the room.

Minerva looked after him for a few brief moments, before noticing the odd sort of calculating look that her brother was staring at her with. "What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing."

She pinned him with the same stern look that would, in later life, make some of her students cry, but Jove ignored it. "So, how do you feel, Min?"

"Far better than I did," she told him. She touched her face gingerly. "My face and shoulder both feel sore though. I mean, a lot of places do, but not as bad as this."

Jove couldn't help but laugh. "That's probably because they're all bruised up. Apparently, that's where that guy on the broom," and here Jove's face darkened somewhat, "mostly collided with you. Your face and your shoulder. The healers didn't want to be using more magic on you once they'd gotten you to the point where you'd live."

Minerva felt no small amount of mortification at the idea that Professor Dumbledore of all people would have seen her with her face like that but pushed it from her mind. Why should it matter what her face looked like when he saw her?

"Oh," she said simply. "How long was I unconscious for then?"

"About five hours. Honestly, I don't think that most people were expecting you to wake up for at least another 3 or four hours—not until sometime well into tonight."

Minerva was about to ask how long she'd have to remain at St. Mungo's when the door to her room burst open and her mother came running in, tears streaming down a face that resembled Minerva's remarkably, and threw her arms around her youngest child.

"Oh, my baby girl! You're all right!"

Minerva felt her face burn bright red upon hearing her mothers words and became even more mortified when her older sister joined their mothers in hugging Minerva tightly and sobbing.

Minerva's gaze fell on her brother, her bright red, bruised face looking desperately for help. Jove simply gave her a sympathetic look. Some help he was.

"I swear I'll never let anything like this happen to you again! We'll clear all the brooms out of the house and I'll write to the headmaster and tell him that you won't be playing quidditch next year, and . . ."

But Minerva did not hear the next words her mother spoke. Not playing quidditch? But that couldn't happen. She _had_ to play quidditch. The idea of her mother taking her broom and not letting her indulge in something that was so indescribably marvelous was . . . was . . . There was simply no word ghastly enough for it.

The look on Minerva's face was one of pure horror as she looked over her mother's shoulder at her father. His eyes locked with hers but his expression was unreadable. Surely he would stand up for her continuing participation in quidditch. He loved it just as much as she did.

/E/E/E/E/E/

It was a good long while before Minerva managed to empty her hospital room of all but herself and her father. She felt tired from the effort, and the idea of sleep sounded lovely but she had to talk to her father about quidditch. She needed his reassurance that he would dissuade her mother from her crazed notion about ending Minerva's participation in quidditch.

"Father, I'm not really going to have to quit playing quidditch am I?" Her voice sounded small and hollow to her, not at all like her normal one.

He looked at her calmly, hazel eyes dragging themselves slowly over the bruises on Minerva's face. "I'm not certain that's not a very good idea."

Minerva felt her eyes water. She'd been certain that her father would be on her side. He loved quidditch. He'd played when he was in school too. How could he even think about making her stop playing?

Tear drops began slipping down Minerva's face and her hand automatically reached to where her pocket should have been, going for the tartan handkerchief that she kept there. Her hospital robes had no pockets, however, and her handkerchief was still at school. She carefully used the corner of her blanket to dab at her eyes.

"Father, we both know that that was a freak accident. It's never going to happen again."

Her father suddenly looked very old to her. "It happened once and you nearly died. Next time you could really end up dead. Then, how would I feel? Allowing you to go on in a sport I know is dangerous and having you end up dead."

This was completely unreasonable. She was fine. She wasn't dead, and the chances of something like this happening again were practically nonexistent. Even deaths in _professional_ quidditch were rare. Her father knew that.

"I won't end up dead. You know that. You know how rare deaths are. You can't stop me from flying . . . from playing quidditch. You wouldn't have stood for it if someone had done it to you. How do you expect me to feel?"

"Your life is more important than your feelings, Minerva," her father told her resolutely, but Minerva could see that she'd struck a chord with him.

"Fine then, how would you feel if suddenly you couldn't play quidditch again?"

Something flickered in her father's eyes and Minerva knew she was getting somewhere.

"Father, the idea of having you make me stop playing quidditch . . . it's . . it's . . ." and her voice was terribly desperate.

Her father's resolve cracked. He'd never been able to deny Minerva anything and his good sense told him that she was right about the possibility of her dying. There was little real danger in the sport. Injuries abounded, but death was uncommon. A quidditch death at Hogwarts had not occurred in over 30 years.

"It's a terrible thought for you isn't it?" he asked sadly. "Rips your heart out?"

Minerva nodded, more tears leaking from her eyes. She removed them quickly from her face with the blanket corner.

"I can't promise you anything, Minerva. Your mother feels very strongly about this and I just can't blame her. I will try though."

Minerva took what she could get. Having some hope was better than having none.

/E/E/E/E/E/

Minerva was at St. Mungo's for another four days before she was allowed to return to Hogwarts, and even then she was confined to the hospital wing.

She had many visitors, however, to keep her busy. At least during the non-class hours. The entire quidditch team (Aries, Hermes, Dan, Kirch, Blume, Tibbs, all of them) and Malcolm had all practically come running into the hospital wing when they heard she'd returned to the castle. Not long after they had left, Malcolm rather reluctantly, Balthazar Hawkins had made an appearance. His dark face had been dark with guilt and he'd apologized profusely for knocking her off her broom and nearly to her death. Nothing that she said seemed able to dissuade him of his guilt.

Malcolm was by far her most frequent visitor (even beating out Maia and Muriel). He would come by everyday about 30 minutes after class had finished, bearing both his books and hers, as well as all the homework she had from each of her teachers. He would spend tow hours with her everyday, going over what she had missed in class and helping her with anything she needed. Because of Malcolm she was not behind at all, with the exception of herbology. Malcolm could not take even a sample of most of the plants they were working with to her. Still, he did his best. On the first day he'd come to her with her homework after class, he'd been bearing a rather large flower of a powder blue color that reminded her strongly of his eyes.

"It a tempus flower," he'd told her. "It changes color with the time of day. The sap of this plant is part of what makes timeturners work. They were my favorite plant last year, so I snuck down to the greenhouse and nabbed you this one. Don't tell anyone."

She smiled at him and took the flower. "You shouldn't break the rules, Malcolm."

He smiled back. "I had a good reason."

"It's still not a good thing to do," she told him.

His face became slightly pink and Minerva found herself wishing he would smile again. Smiling made Malcolm even more handsome that he already was. She wondered why he didn't have a girlfriend. He was so attractive. Surely there had to be dozens of girls who would jump at the idea of dating him. She knew that if he ever asked her out, she would.

Such thoughts like those had occasionally abounded as the days wore on. Seeing Malcolm was the best and least boring part of her day. She was sick of being stuck in bed all the time, only getting up to go to the bathroom. Even then she was confined to a set of crutches. No one wanted her walking until they were sure her back was completely all right.

It made for boring days. There were the visits from Malcolm and the sprinklings of visits from other people—even Professor Dumbledore every other day, to Minerva's great pleasure—but it really wasn't enough. She wanted to get back to class.

She stared at the door to the hospital wing. There were still thirty-five minutes until Malcolm would arrive and she ached to see him. She wanted someone to relieve her boredom and she wanted to see his handsome face and the flash over his curly blonde locks in the sun that streamed in through a window in the hospital wing.

Five minutes later the bell rang, and while she knew that the halls of the school were all filled with a brilliant noise that normally grated on her nerves, in the silence of the hospital wing she longed for it. She hate being cooped up here. She loved being guided through her classes by Malcolm (he was such a sweet person), but she really wanted to actually start going to them again. She and Malcolm could still find plenty of time to spend to together when she was out of here and back in class. Maybe they could even find more of it.

Five more minutes crawled by. There were only twenty-five minutes until Malcolm got here. Then an hour after that Professor Dumbledore would be by to check on her, and smile at her and wish her a speedy recovery because he wanted to get back to their animagus lessons . . .

The door opened and Muriel walked in. Today was obviously going to be a good day. Three visitors at least. She might not even have much time to herself and her books (which Malcolm continually brought her from the library) tonight. The thought was pleasing.

"Hey, Minerva," she greeted cheerily. "What have you been up to?"

"Waiting for Malcolm."

"Oh," she said. "I see. Should I leave?"

"No!" cried Minerva firmly, her eyebrows bunching together, as Muriel began to turn around. "I sit alone all day while you guys have class." She heaved a wistful sigh. "Why would I want you to leave?"

"Well, you said you were waiting on Malcolm."

Minerva was confused. "And?"

"Well, I know you fancy him," Muriel stated. "So I thought you would probably rather be alone with him."

"How do you know?" asked Minerva, who was careful to keep her face neutral despite her blush.

"I just know you," said Muriel with a shrug and sat down on the end of Minerva's bed. "You're not a very, obvious person, Minerva, don't worry. You're a bit too restrained in the emotions department to be obvious. I don't think many people know you like Malcolm. I know Malcolm doesn't." She gazed kindly at Minerva. "And I _know_ I'm the only one that knows you have a crush on Professor Dumbledore."

"I do not!" The words had left Minerva's mouth before she could even think about them. They were quite true, though. Muriel was dead on about Malcolm but quite the opposite about Professor Dumbledore. He was too old for her. She definitely did not have a crush on him.

"Of course you do," Muriel snorted. "And why wouldn't you? You spend a lot of time with him, Min. He's like your mentor. A lot of people get crushes on their mentors. It's human nature."

Minerva's mind railed against what Muriel was suggesting. Professor Dumbledore was her teacher. The entire idea that she would have a crush on him was highly inappropriate.

"I fancy Malcolm, not Professor Dumbledore," she stated defiantly.

"Suit yourself," said Muriel with shrug. "Either way, you ought to tell Malcolm that. He would die of happiness. He's fancied you for the past two years."

Minerva gaped. She'd never noticed anything of the sort. "Why hasn't he told me?"

"He's way too shy for that, Min," said Muriel with a short laugh. "Even the rest of the Gryffindors aren't always as brave as you are."

"Well, that's just silly."

/E/E/E/E/E/

"Well, I should probably go, Minerva," said Malcolm reluctantly. He didn't want to leave. He loved spending all this time with Minerva. He hated—_hated_—that she was hurt, but her being here did give him a splendid excuse to spend time alone with her every day. Whenever he was with her he felt like his heart sang with joy. "Here are some of the books you asked for from the library."

He leaned closer to her than he felt he should have as he handed her a small stack of books. His hands trembled slightly. What if she thought so too? What if she suddenly asked him why he was so close to her and began yelling at him? He could happily and easily face any manner of strange and evil monsters—he was no coward—but having Minerva yell at him would just make his heart crumble. He knew the notion was silly, Minerva would never do that, but it still worried him.

_He really is just too shy_, Minerva thought as she took her books from Malcolm's trembling hands.

With the abstract thought that Malcolm looked very handsome even when nervous, Minerva decided that this entire thing was far too silly to endure. She closed the distance between them and gave Malcolm a short kiss.

Stunned into silence by what had just happened, Malcolm tentatively touched his lips. He could feel the moisture on them from where Minerva had kissed him. Elated, the largest smile Minerva had ever seen him where spread across his face. His features shone with a light she had never seen in him before.

Suddenly made confident by Minerva's actions, Malcolm leaned forward and kissed Minerva again.


	5. Year Three at Hogwarts: Defiance

Author's Notes:

Okay, first off, thank you to everyone who's been reviewing. It's always nice to hear that one's work is appreciated. I would also like to note that if anyone has any constructive criticism or even just wants to make a suggestion because there is something they would like to see, please feel free. I want to hear whatever my readers have to say, short of anything rude (which I would like to note there has been none of).

And so, with that said, here is the last of the notable events in Minerva's rather noteworthy third year at Hogwarts.

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As usual, the hospital wing began to stir to wakefulness at 7:00 in the morning. Mr. Farron came out of his office in his pajamas and robe as he always did, with his little girl Sarah following sleepily at his heels. Thought Minerva had been of late, sleeping in until about 8 o'clock when she would have normally been going off class, this morning she was awake. She'd been in the hospital wing for a week now and before that, in St. Mungo's. She'd had quite enough. She was going to be going to class today, despite the fact that the effort she was supposed to put forward was what she needed to walk for an hour each day as Mr Farron had ordered.

Minerva watched with a sort of charmed fascination as Mr. Farron and Sarah moved toward a tank of glow fish and the young girl, no more than eight, was lifted by her father to reach the tank. They then sat down on one of the empty cots and Mr. Farron took her long brown hair and brushed, then braided it. It was their morning ritual, Minerva knew, and she also knew that Mr. Farron took great delight in it.

There was a great amount of tenderness in the way Mr. Farron handled his daughter. Minerva had seen it straight away and at first had thought the little girl lucky to have such a father. Not everybody did. She had never changed that opinion. However, she had revised her ideas of the girl's luckiness when upon idly comment on Mr. Farron's regard for his daughter, Professor Dumbledore had given her a little background.

Mr. Farron had been absolutely captivated by his wife and had loved her more than anything else. Despite the time he had to devote to his job here at the school they'd managed to spend much time together. The light in his eyes whenever he had laid eyes on her had been undeniable. When they'd had Sarah, he'd been delighted. They'd lived happily for a little over a year, when Mr. Farron's wife had been killed by one of Grindelwald's followers. Mr. Farron had, of course, been devastated, but he'd continued on without fail since that day because of his daughter.

Apparently it had been that event which had caused on the teachers in the school to begin concealing their spouses and children from the world. It had been that fact that had caused the death of Mr. Farron's wife and nobody wanted that to happen to their family as well. Apparently many of the teachers at the school were married, though they kept their private affairs carefully away from their students, whose tongues could be quite lax.

Minerva probably would have felt a stab of jealousy upon hearing this, for she probably would have thought of the fact that her dear Professor Dumbledore could be married, had she not been so busy trying to wipe away her tears. She was very fond of Mr. Farron. While she did not like the medical orders he gave her, she found him to be a very kind-hearted person. He most certainly was the last person who deserved what had happened to him. The idea that someone would intentionally do that to another person was unthinkable—but that did not make Grindelwald or his followers any less capable of it. He'd been created a dark cloud over Europe, and now the world, for years. Only Hogwarts seemed to remain free of it.

On the day that Professor Dumbledore had told her that, it had occurred to Minerva that Hogwarts was not as free of that dark cloud as the students believed.

Mr. Farron tied off his daughter's long braid and the two moved off together into his office. They were going to be flooing to where ever it was that teachers took their children to be cared for during the day.

The door to Mr. Farron's office closed and Minerva sat up in her cot and began to get dressed. Now was her chance to escape and start going to classes again. Minerva felt loathe to break a school rule like this—her sense of lawfulness railed against it—but there were things that went beyond school rules. Her need to be in class and actually doing something qualified perfectly.

Dressed and ready for the day, Minerva grabbed the cane she'd been using to walk and hurried out of the hospital wing before Mr. Farron returned and stopped her. As usual when she walked her legs felt weak and uncoordinated, but her health had been improving and she managed to make good progress out the door.

Free and clear of the hospital wing for the first time in a good long while, Minerva took the longest route possible to Gryffindor tower. She felt like it had been a million years since she had walked down the corridors and hear the sharp taps of her boots on the flagstones. She wanted to savor being able to do what even after long summers away from the castle she took for granted during her yearly stay at the castle.

She strayed near the Great Hall as she walked, near where everyone was eating. She herself was not particularly hungry and did not go into the hall. She did not expect to see anyone out and about in the corridors and was thus very surprised when she spotted Peeves chasing a frog-faced girl down one of the corridors by tipping suits of armor at her. Minerva couldn't help but chuckle. That particular Slytherin was one she found to be particularly unpleasant and she was only sorry to see that he was about to run out of suits of armor to tip at her. If she thought that she would have gotten it back, Minerva would have lent him her cane so he would have something to continue threatening Delores with.

When she finally reached Gryffindor tower, there were only about fifteen minutes until class started. As such the Gryffindor common room was all but empty. There were a couple of seventh years hanging about in the armchair s talking, but Minerva ignored them and began to move towards the girls' dormitory. Before she could reach it, Kiril came streaking strait toward her, nothing more than a furry orange blur. He did as cats will often do when they want something from their owner and put himself right underfoot and she tried to continue her limp-like walk, leaning heavily on her cane. She quite nearly fell flat on her face but managed to stay upright, though barely.

"Kiril! You're going to kill me if you keep that up."

Kiril just looked up at her with large, innocent eyes and mewed pitifully at her. It seemed he'd missed her during her long absence from Gryffindor tower. Minerva softened perceptibly and carefully sat herself on the ground near her long-unseen cat.

As soon as Minerva had placed herself securely on the ground, she found six kilos of orange cat in her lap, purring madly. She sat there for about five minutes, just petting Kiril and giving her beloved pet all of her attention. He'd not been attention starved, she knew that Dan would have seen to that, but he wanted her. Anyone who thought that cats were not loyal, loving creatures was a fool in Minerva's eyes.

She hoped Dan was right. She hoped her animagus form was a cat. There was no creature she was more fond of.

It was all too soon that the five minutes passed and Minerva was forced reluctantly to push Kiril from her lap, struggle to her feet and go into her dormitory to get the rest of her things. She had only ten minutes to do that and get to History of Magic. She might even end up being a few seconds late. Not that she minded. History of Magic was a class where she ignored the teacher and simply read the book. That was far more interesting than listening to Professor Binns talk.

She ended up being more than a few seconds late to History of Magic. She'd run into Malcolm who upon seeing her had run up to lifted her swiftly from her feet and hugged and kissed her, expressing his happiness that she was out of the hospital wing. Between that and their short argument over whether or not he would carry her bag to class for her—he insisted and eventually won out—she never did manage to correct him assumption about her being released from the hospital wing.

When Minerva entered the History of Magic classroom, the first thing that came out of her mouth was a soft gasp. She'd thought Malcolm was kidding when he said that Professor Binns had died and was now teaching as a ghost. She'd not seen any bodies come into the hospital wing, nor heard any hubbub from the teachers and had therefore thought it quite impossible. Floating near the chalkboard and reading from a book, however, was the evidence that Malcolm had not been kidding.

Minerva recovered herself and took a seat in the back. Professor Binns did not even look up. He had no idea she was out of the hospital wing—probably didn't even know she'd been gone—nor did he know that she'd been late. He simply droned on, quite literally dead to the world.

Minerva did her best not to stare and tried to read as she normally did. It was nearly impossible. One did not often suddenly discover that one's teacher had died and continued to teach.

"Kind of weird isn't it?"

"Hrm?" said Minerva, turning to the boy who'd spoken to her.

"Suddenly having a ghost for a teacher, I mean," he said. "First class he came in to teach was a class full of first year Hufflepuffs. They went screaming into the corridors and ran strait to Professor Chantry's class. They all crowded around her scared like she was their mother. It was really funny."

Minerva would never understand why older kids always thought it was so terribly funny to scare the younger ones. It wasn't funny and it scared the poor things out of their skins half the time. At least Professor Chantry had probably been quickly able to comfort her frightened charges.

After the first fifteen minutes of class, Minerva began to found it easier to ignore Professor Binns' new state of being and continue on in the class like she always did. She actually finished the text book about five minutes before the bell rang—she'd made a substantial dent in the book while in the hospital wing—and began reading her book on translating Ancient Runes instead.

Class let out and Minerva found herself walking about 30 paces behind her classmates. She had no friends in her own year and thus no body waited for her or walked with her. That was fine. There was no animosity there, she's simply just happened to make friends with students in higher years. She was casual friends with Aries and he was four years older than she. She simply got along well with older students and not particularly well with those her own age and younger. She did not know why.

Malcolm caught up with her quickly in the corridor and again insisted on taking her bag for her. She argued less this time, figuring that if she so neither of them would be late to class.

Malcolm sat her bag down next to her seat, kissed her swiftly, much to the astonishment and jealousy of a couple of girls in the class, and was running off to Arithmancy. Minerva took her seat and pulled out her wand, eager to begin. This was why she'd snuck out of the hospital wing today. This class right here. She loved it and she'd missed it so. She'd missed it so much that often when Mr. Farron had his back turned, she would practice whatever Malcolm had told her her day's lesson had been on the spare cot next to hers.

The bell was nearly ready to ring and Minerva noticed that Professor Dumbledore was strangely absent. She wondered where he had gotten to. It was unusual for him to not be at the front of the room, smiling at them as they came in. Even when he was away he was nearly always back in the classroom by now.

The bell rang and Professor Dumbledore had still not returned. Minerva wondered where on earth he could have possibly gotten to. She'd never seen him be late to class. Never.

A low murmur had filled the air. It seemed everyone else had noticed the Professor's absence as well.

When Professor Dumbledore finally blew into the class room ten minuted late, he did not apologize as Minerva would have expected him to. Instead, he spoke not a word and began walking straight towards her, a rather authoritative sort of angry look on his bearded face. Instantly, Minerva knew where her Head of House had been. Mr. Farron must have called him down to the hospital wing to tell him of her absence. He was going to make her go back.

But she did not want to go back. She'd snuck out of the hospital wing to come to this class specifically. She wanted to go to the others too, but this one was the reason.

Thinking quickly, she transfigured her cane into a fly, which flew quickly away. There. Now she couldn't go back. She couldn't walk without that damnable cane.

"Miss McGonagall, Mr. Farron has just informed me that you are to still be in the hospital wing, not in my classroom."

She simply looked at him and did not say anything. It would be silly to deny what was true, but he had not yet told her to back.

"Might I suggest that you return there, then? Before I begin deducting points from Gryffindor?"

Now was the time to say something. "But, sir, I can't. I can't walk without my cane."

"You mean the one you transfigured into a fly a few moments ago?" He asked with a raised auburn eyebrow.

"Yes."

"No matter," Professor Dumbledore responded and Minerva thought that he was about to turn some random item off of his desk into a cane, then order her off to the hospital wing.

That was fine with her, she decided. She would turn the entirety of Dumbledore's desk into flies if there was a chance that it would allow her to stay.

It was because of this, that Albus Dumbledore's next move took her completely off guard. He simply leaned down and picked her right up off her chair.

"Excuse me, while I go return Miss McGonagall to the hospital wing," he said to the class. "If you will all pass out the candles I have sitting on my desk, hopefully we may get started as soon as I return."

Minerva had been too stunned by Dumbledore's actions to do anything as he spoke. There was an almost sputtering disbelief in her that he was carrying her back down to the hospital wing, his arms wrapped securely about her back and legs and his beating heart in close proximity to her body.

This quickly dissipated, however, as anger took hold of her. Who was he to be forcefully taking her anywhere? The nerve of him. Her wand was still clutched in her hand. She could do something about this.

She turned his hair purple.

Some students gasped, others laughed and still others looked at their professor's hair in stunned silence. Professor Dumbledore simply continued on, taking Minerva back to where she belonged. Perhaps he had not noticed his hair changing colors.

So she turned his beard purple too.

He still continued on.

Minerva's temper grew. Her eyes were a brilliant green, her mouth practically non-existent from the thin line it form and her cheeks were alight with a brilliant pink. This was war. She was not going back to the hospital wing to sit in bored solitude for another however many days.

She turned his hat to a large parrot.

He kept right on walking.

She turned one of his shoes into a wooden box.

He still kept walking.

She turned his other shoe into a mouse, which quickly scampered off his foot and into a crack in a nearby wall.

He kept walking, his steps now uneven as one foot was bare and the other in a box. It did not seem to matter to him.

She turned his robes into a jester's motley, then a dress rather like the one her muggle grandmother wore. He did not care, he simply continued on. There was nothing she could do to stop him, try as she might.

They reached the hospital wing and Professor Dumbledore walked strait past Mr. Farron and placed her on her bed. She stared at him, her face sharply defiant, her arms crossed and her wand clutched tightly in her hand.

He placed his hands on the bed on either side of her and brought his face so close to hers that their noses nearly touched. Her eyes blazed green at him and he stared back at them, not backing down in the least, but instead telling her firmly exactly what was what.

"Fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor. You will serve two nights detention with me as soon as you are released from the hospital wing. You are _never_ to so much as think about ever doing that again."

And with that he pushed himself sharply off of her bed and strode calmly from the room as though nothing had occurred, his steps still uneven from the box and the bare foot.


	6. Year Four at Hogwarts: Guilt

Author's Notes:

Sorry, it's been a few days since I updated. Here's a shot chapter that I hope will appease people until I produce something longer and post it. Hopefully I can do that tomorrow but one never knows. In any event, here you are.

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Minerva could not help but feel guilty at the depth of her feelings for Albus Dumbledore. Every time her mind strayed to him, she felt as though she was betraying Malcolm and her thoughts were straying more and more often to her auburn-haired mentor.

She hadn't expected this to happen at all. When she'd left Hogwarts last summer, she'd still been fuming at Dumbledore for his treatment of her during that entire escape to transfiguration class incident. She'd spent her summer growing closer and closer to Malcolm and rarely sparing a thought for Professor Dumbledore. She'd returned to Hogwarts earlier this year still very much ignoring any feelings she had for the professor and thinking she might even be falling in love with Malcolm.

She'd also returned with no more bitter feelings towards her beloved teacher. They had faded over the summer and he was more than happy to welcome her back into their normal routine. He'd welcomed her back with open arms.

Seeing Professor Dumbledore again for the first time after the summer had been a quietly joyful event. They had not said a word about what had happened at the end of last year. There had simply been an understanding that such things occurred between mentor and protege, and thus all was suddenly right between them. Minerva had not realized how much tension she had been retaining from that until she had found it released from her then.

They had been quick to resume their twice weekly animagus lessons. The first had taken place before that first week of school had finished. She had spent a rather large chunk of her time with Professor Dumbledore in his office, working through the complexities of the animagus process. What remained of her time had been spent practicing for quidditch (her mother had mercifully relented on her hysterical promise to never let her on a broomstick again), studying and being with Malcolm.

For the first two months of the term nothing had been wrong. Malcolm had constantly invaded her thought and Professor Dumbledore rarely did so, except in the context of lessons and her progress as an animagus. As time passed, however, the magic of a new relationship had faded and Minerva had slowly found her professor beginning to invade her thoughts the way he had before.

She'd still not acknowledged her feelings for what they were, however. Just as she had to Muriel that day in the hospital wing, she'd insisted to herself that all her feelings rested with Malcolm and his lovely blonde curls. The idea that she would fancy her professor was highly inappropriate, and for another few months she'd fought the idea.

She'd been fighting a losing battle, however. Muriel had dragged the matter into the light many months ago and try as she might, Minerva could no longer hide it in the shadows.

Admitting she fancied Professor Dumbledore had been, however, a mistake in Minerva's eyes. Far from being the first step toward getting rid of her feelings, it had opened the floodgates of her emotions. There were times when she had found herself thinking about Professor Dumbledore more than Malcolm.

She'd once even caught herself thinking about Professor Dumbledore as Malcolm kissed her. The guilt from that had been overwhelming. She'd cried about it in her dormitory for nearly an hour. She did not want this. She wanted the relationship she'd had with Malcolm over the summer.

Through this all, Muriel had been Minerva's constant advisor. Minerva found it easier to talk to Muriel about these sorts of things than she did anybody else—though she had not even managed to tell Muriel everything. She was something of a private person, and sharing absolutely every feeling she had about something was not something that came naturally or easily.

And some things were hard to admit. Only she knew that her mind had wandered to her professor once as Malcolm had kissed her. It would more than likely remain that way.

At least it had only happened the once. Minerva's horror had driven Dumbledore out of her thoughts for at least a week.

She did have her periods of blessed sanity, however. There were times when Malcolm would manage to tug at her heart so that Professor Dumbledore would sink from her mind completely for days at a time. It was times like those that allowed Minerva her hope that she could beat her infatuation.

It allowed her her hope that she would beat her infatuation and ride off into at least a short term sunset with Malcolm, whom she knew adored her and whom she was, obviously, remarkably fond of as well. It was this hope that allowed her to justify her clinging hold on the relationship she and Malcolm had with one another. She would get over this silly thing she had for a man who was her teacher and far too old for her and instead be able to concentrate on the marvelous young man who was her contemporary in age.

/E/E/E/E/E/

"My dear girl, if you are not going to concentrate on your task, I might as well send you back to Gryffindor tower. Minerva, what is wrong with you?"

_The idea that I am going to be going away from this castle in a scant couple of weeks and will not see your blue eyes for three months_, Minerva thought bitterly, feeling that she should not be thinking what she was, just as she nearly always did when such thoughts occurred to her. Rarely was there any indulgence of any thoughts like these—and when there was she inevitably felt guilty later. Such things were better avoided.

So what should she tell him? She hated the idea of lying to him, of course, but whenever these sorts of situations came up there was no question that she would not tell him the whole and complete truth of the matter. A loose version of the truth was always what she settled on. She was, by nature, an honest person.

"I've just been thinking about the summer, Professor."

Dumbledore smiled. "Most students are about ready to leap out of their skins in anticipation. I'm surprised that even you're not excited about the prospect of seeing your parents."

"I am," she assured him. "It's just . . . After I came back last summer, I felt like I'd lost at least a month off of this. It bothers me. I want to do this, and do it right. I don't want to take a few steps back each year. It's a long process."

It had not been exactly what she'd been thinking right then, of course, but overall it was an undeniably true statement. Becoming an animagus was indeed a long process—one that consisted mostly of preparation for the series of transformations in which the animagus form was revealed and then made to "stick." Stick was really the wrong word for it, at least in Minerva's eyes, for one's animagus form could never change or be consciously decided on, but it was what the process of making the form inherent and transformation natural and wandless was generally referred to as. In any event, it was supposed to be a mostly ongoing process, not one interrupted for three months on a yearly basis. She had done what she could last summer, driven by her strong desire to become an animagus and do as much of that as possible without Dumbledore—whom she had of course still been mad at. There had been times, however, when she had simply needed Dumbledore's help and without him she could not continue. It had put an amazing stall on things and she'd returned to Hogwarts feeling as though she'd lost months of time over the summer.

Dumbledore seemed deep in thought, considering her words. Finally, he began to speak in a slow, thoughtful sort of voice. "Perhaps we continue our work over the summer, rather than allow this project to fall behind and to atrophy . . . Would you be willing to come to my summer home twice a week so we might continue? You would easily be able to travel back and forth through the floo network."

Minerva had not expected nor had she even wanted Professor Dumbledore to suggest what he had just suggested. She had been planning on spending the entirety of the summer away from him and spending as much time with Malcolm as possible. Three months away from Dumbledore and his twinkling eyes and kind smile and brilliant mind and . .

Well, those three months would do her a lot of good. Her infatuation with him was most certainly not a good or desirable thing and from that perspective, spending her summer flooing back and forth to his summer home was a very bad idea.

From the perspective of her becoming an animagus, however, spending her entire summer at home and allowing herself to waste so much time was ludicrous. She did want to become an animagus didn't she? Well that meant she needed to suck it up and ignore those silly feelings of hers. This was about her becoming an animagus and everything else was irrelevant.

The second perspective was by far the more practical one and it quickly won out in Minerva's head.

"I think that's an excellent idea, Professor."


	7. Summer: Chess and Phoenixes

The emerald flames that surrounded Minerva died quickly down and she stepped out of Professor Dumbledore's fireplace and towards where he stood in the middle of the living room floor of his summer home.

The first thing she noticed about the house was the immense amount of sunlight that poured into it through two story tall windows, making its golden hued wood paneling shine in a remarkable—and no doubt magical, fashion. It gave the house a very warm, welcoming feel. It suited Dumbledore perfectly.

"May I take it that you approve, Minerva?"

Minerva felt a familiar tingle crawl its way up her spine. He only ever used her given name when they were alone. It felt oddly . . . intimate.

She shoved the thought quickly away. Instead she nodded calmly at him , allowing her eyes to cast about the room and take in as much of it as possible. This was a gorgeous place—a far cry from her own home, which was distinctly gothic in architecture.

Dumbledore smiled. "I suppose I shall have to give you the grand tour then, or else we may find ourselves highly distracted by your curiosity. Best to get it out of the way before we start."

Minerva gave him what could only be described as a very cat-like smile.

He chuckled quietly and then commenced his tour. She was lead around from room to room in the house, told its history and even told about some of the stranger objects in each room. It was mesmerizing, this house. Much like her professor, Minerva found that the house was in a class entirely its own. She'd been expecting that, of course, but imagining something was never quite the same as actually seeing it.

He lead her into a room which was oddly, at least in this house, devoid of natural light. A potions set more complicated than even the one Professor Slughorn had on display in his classroom, sat on a table near this wall. It was currently in disuse but Minerva could see that it was well maintained.

It suddenly occurred to Minerva that this was probably the very room where her professor had discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood. As soon as that thought occurred to her she found that she felt that if she were to try and speak, she would be unable to force words from her mouth. For the first time ever she felt very nervous to be around Professor Dumbledore. This man was _famous_—and for amazingly good reason. She had never felt this overwhelmed by her teacher, even at the times when her infatuation with him was at its most powerful. He was . . . brilliant did not even come close to describing it. She'd always admired him. Absolutely always. The fact that she admired him had lead just as much to her infatuation with him as how he charmed her. Right now, however, she did not admire him. She was _awed_ by him. She hardly felt fit to stand near him, much less be receiving his help to become an animagus.

The feeling passed quickly as Dumbledore, sensing the sudden nervous stiffness towards him that her awe caused, lead her from the room. She quickly noticed, once her senses began to return from her and after she'd thoroughly scolded herself for behaving so irrationally that Dumbledore had not mentioned his discovery when they were in the room. In fact he'd never once mentioned it, or any of his other more astounding feats to her. Not ever. It was honestly something of a quandary to Minerva. She was not one who engaged in bragging by any means but she could not help but bring up some things on occasion, when they were appropriate. She was always proud of her accomplishments, she did not ignore them the way Dumbledore, bless his dear soul, seemed to. He was an amazingly humble person, at least at most times. She supposed that was part of his charm.

He lead her back through the pleasantly sun-flooded living room and up a flight of stairs, to the second story and a landing that overlooked the spacious living room from the second story. She paused for a moment to stare down at it from over the railing. A lake could be seen clearly in the distance though one of the windows, shimmering an almost unnatural blue in the afternoon sun. It would be easy to stare at something like this all day. She envied Professor Dumbledore, and wondered idly what it would be like to spend even a week or two in this house.

Dumbledore waited patiently for her at the entrance to a hallway. After a few moments of blissful staring where she took in everything she could of the living room, Minerva tore herself away from the landing that was overlooking the living room. She began following him down the hallway.

A door near to the left and near the hallway's entrance stood slightly ajar. Curious about the only room that Professor Dumbledore had lead her past without taking her in to view it, she peered through the slightly open door and caught sight of a rather magnificent looking bird.

"Professor, is that," she began as her legs carried her mindlessly through the doorway and to the bird, which was staring at her curiously from its golden perch. "Is that a phoenix?"

"Indeed it is," he replied, following after her.

"I had no idea that you had a phoenix, Professor," she breathed. "They're amazing creatures . . . What's its name?"

"His name is Fawkes," he answered.

She nodded at him then turned back to Fawkes, who still seemed to be considering her. She suddenly got the very odd feeling that Fawkes knew something she would have rather he didn't. At the same time Fawkes moved toward her and offered his beautiful red and gold head to her so she might pet him. She touched him tentatively, all the while thinking that the phoenix was both markedly dignified and entirely too sharp. Phoenixes were supposed to be incredibly loyal pets and she had the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that the reason he was being so friendly was that he knew how she felt about Dumbledore.

"He seems to have taken a very quick liking to you," Dumbledore commented. Minerva wondered whether or not he could tell by Fawkes' behavior what was going on in Minerva's head—or more accurately her heart. She certainly hoped not. The last thing she wanted was for him to know any of what was happening in her head. If he ever did realize he would probably do what she knew what the smart thing, and distance himself from her. It would be the smart thing, she knew, but even so, she did not want it to happen. Despite what she knew was smart she also wanted to be with him as often as she could. She found herself constantly toeing a very thin line.

She ignored the sick feeling in her stomach and, still stroking Fawkes' plumage, began to look around the room. An unearthly beautiful song began to ring from Fawkes. Well, if nothing else, he seemed to approve of the way she felt about Albus, even if she herself did not. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

There was nothing more beautiful than the song of a phoenix. She'd read that in a book once and now, hearing it for the first time in real life, she found she agreed. It reverberated through her and she found herself looking at Albus and her heart seemed to swell in her chest at the sight of him. Oh, Fawkes needed to stop. Fawkes needed to stop or she might find herself compelled to do something very stupid.

She lifted her hand from Fawkes, and with something of an effort—her insides were ringing pleasantly with song—she took a few steps away from him. The song flowing from Fawkes began to fade to an ending and Minerva found herself taking in her surroundings for the first time. There was a large bed made of the same wood that made up the paneling throughout the house. There was a portrait of four people sitting on a dresser not far away.

Minerva's cheeks's began to burn. This was Professor Dumbledore's bedroom. No wonder he had not been taking her into this room. She instantly hated her somewhat rash decision to simply barge into the room and began to quickly apologize to Professor Dumbledore, noting with satisfaction that she was at least not stammering or showing any other signs of her embarrassment. The older she got, the more she hated how her more powerful emotions managed to break through her normally calm, collected and decidedly straight-forward demeanor. At least right now the flush on her cheeks was all that had managed to weasel its way around her attempts to hold in her emotions.

Dumbledore raised a hand and she quickly ceased with her apology.

"There is no need to apologize, Minerva."

There was that damn shiver moving its way pleasantly up her spine.

"I have invited you into my home and you are welcome to wander wherever you may wish in it. I have complete and utter faith that a collected girl like yourself could not possibly cause any trouble."

"Thank you, Professor," she answered, not knowing what else to say. He was being to pleasant and polite. She was no good with pleasantries. She simply did not have the people skills for them. She preferred books.

A table full of chess pieces caught her eye, as she moved them around the room in an effort to avoid Dumbledore's gaze and keep her feelings of immense embarrassment at her rude behavior under control.

"You play chess?" she asked, her hazel eyes meeting his own eyes quickly. She loved chess. She'd only ever played her father, who beat her mercilessly every time they played, and her brother who she could beat about 50 or 60 percent of the time, but it was a favorite past time of hers. It sharpened the mind.

"For many years, now, yes. It's an occasional indulgement. As far as games go I prefer bowling."

Minerva's dark eyebrows shot up toward her hairline at the thought of Professor Dumbledore bowling. Somehow it was both oddly appropriate and intensely absurd. She could not decide what her opinion on the matter was.

"I take it you are fond of chess, then?" he asked.

"I play some," she told him. "Not as much as I'd like though. Nobody at school ever wants to play me."

"Quick and humiliating losses for them, I assume?" She nodded. "People do not generally wish to play an opponent they feel they cannot win against."

"I never win against my father."

Dumbledore pinned her with his crystal blue gaze. "You are a very uncommon caliber of young lady, Minerva. Your determination is both a great strength and terribly annoying to those of us who occasionally wish to dissuade you from something." His mind flashed back to the incident a year ago when he'd had to take her back to the hospital wing. He smiled fondly at the memory. He'd been quite upset with her over her uncharacteristically irresponsible behavior, but he'd had to admit, upon seeing himself, that it was very funny.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she replied shrewdly.

"As you should!" he told her, with a vehemence that was the exception in most people and the rule for Minerva's lovably eccentric teacher. "Now, there are at least three rooms in this house that you have not seen and we still need to get to work."

Minerva followed Dumbledore obediently out of the room, still glancing about as she left it. Her eyes fell again on the portrait that was on the dresser. In it she saw an older wizard with long white hair and a short, well trimmed beard, a middle-aged witch with hair the same color as Professor Dumbledore's, a rather messy looking boy that Minerva could only assume was the professor's thrice mentioned brother Aberforth and last of all, she saw a young, clean-shaven man with neat auburn hair down just past his shoulders standing very tall and waving.

Minerva took a sharp intake of breath and kept walking. She wondered how long sleep would be in coming tonight, now that she had the image of a young Professor Dumbledore—one only a year or two older than she—ingrained in her mind

/E/E/E/E/E/

"I'm home, Mother," said Minerva as she stepped out of the fireplace and into the study.

June McGonagall cast a wary glance over her shoulder at her youngest child, now the last child remaining in the house. As usual when she got back from her Professor's house, Minerva looked both vaguely joyful and vaguely depressed—with admiration and lovesickness showing and triumphing above both.

June had noticed her daughter's infatuation with her teacher from the moment Minerva had come home the year before. She was far sharper than her daughter liked to give her credit for and being a very emotional person herself she found that empathetic senses were sharper than even her mental ones. It had been quite obvious to her that Minerva had developed a schoolgirl crush on her favorite teacher. She'd actually thought it somewhat funny, especially considering how mad at Dumbledore Minerva had been.

Now it was less funny. Now her fifteen year old daughter was flooing over to that same teacher's house every few days and spending hours there. It worried June. It wasn't that she thought anything was going on—she had Dumbledore as a transfiguration teacher in her own days at Hogwarts and would have a hard time believing that he would engage in such a thing. It was just that this wasn't good for Minerva. June happened to think that she should be spending more time with her boyfriend, whom she personally quite approved of and was at least Minerva's own age, rather than a man eighty years her senior. This was only going to lead Minerva straight into trouble.

She'd mentioned once to her husband that they should perhaps consider putting a stop to Minerva's frequent visits to Dumbledore. He'd thought she was quite mad.

"Students fancy their teachers all the time, June," he'd told her, shaking his head. "I remember back when I was Hogwarts there was this one teacher, Professor Morven, that I fancied. She was married to another teacher too, Professor Laithe, but I just couldn't help myself. Kids will be kids."

And after that she knew she'd get no help from her husband on this. How very typical of him. He rarely saw past his own duties as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot or what was going on in the world of that damned sport quidditch (oh, why did she continue to let Minerva participate in that ghastly sport?). He had no idea how Minerva would come home from Dumbledore's with what looked to be the weight of the world on her shoulders. June was convinced she needed some time away from Professor Dumbledore.

Then again, perhaps her husband was right. She too had once fancied Professor Dumbledore when she was in school. He'd not been nearly as fond of her as he was of Minerva now ( a fact that would have made her magnificently jealous in those days) but the situations were hardly terribly different. June supposed that eventually Minerva would outgrow her feeling for Dumbledore and move on.

June watched her daughter move across, her long pony tail swinging as she moved. the room to grab a book on transfiguration, her long pony tail swinging as she moved. Minerva sat herself down on the couch, curled up around the book, reading. There would be no talking to her tonight. Especially given what she was reading. Albus Dumbledore was in a fair number of transfiguration books.

She might have decided that there was nothing to be done until Minerva simply got over Professor Dumbledore but in the meantime June would certainly still not like it.

/E/E/E/E/E/

"Checkmate, my dear."

Minerva deftly pushed herself back from the chess board, her mouth in its familiar line and her nostrils flaring.

Ever since Miner had discovered that Dumbledore played chess she'd challenged him for a game after they were through with every lesson. It had become something of a tradition for them. She'd began it because she'd thought it would be a good way to distract herself from the fact that she'd just spent hours alone with him. She got very into chess and while she was strategizing she found that there was little else on her mind. It seemed like an excellent way to wind down a lesson.

She'd been quite right, but not for the reason she'd thought. As it turned out, Albus Dumbledore was an incredibly frustrating person to play chess with. He always seemed to pull a win from no where. There had been times when Minerva had been authentically, genuinely, _absolutely certain_ that she'd had him, but somehow he always managed to out-think her and put her into checkmate. She had no idea how he did it. It was perplexing and singularly frustrating. It seemed that he must be some sort of great strategist, but then why was it that she ever got the idea that she was on the verge of winning? Her father was a great strategist, of that there was no question in any witch or wizard alive's mind, and when she played him she never for one instant thought she would win. There was never the frustrating sensation of having victory snatched narrowly from her. As such, she found nothing more annoying than being beaten by Dumbledore, and after the third time this occurred she'd made a silent vow to herself that she would beat him one day, and spectacularly.

She lifted her eyes from the chess board and stared Dumbledore in the eyes. "I don't know how you beat me."

"If you did then I wouldn't have won."

"It's frustrating."

He inclined his head towards her slightly. "I can clearly see that, Minerva."

Her look darkened and he chuckled in that annoying way of his. Normally she found his airy demeanor charming. Right now, while she was in a distinctly bad temper, however, it was anything but charming. Still attractive she would admit, but not charming or endearing in the least.

"I swear, Professor, if it takes me until I'm old and wrinkled I'm going to beat you. Gratuitously."

Dumbledore shook his head, and it was obvious to her that there was something he thought quite obvious that she was missing. "I have no doubts about the truth of that, though I do doubt that you will be at all wrinkled when that comes to pass. I have been playing far longer than you have, but that will only save me for so long."

She was about to reply to him, when she heard someone calling her name from the fireplace. She looked over to see Malcolm's blonde head sitting in the now green flames of Professor Dumbledore's fireplace.

"Malcolm?"

"Hey, Min," he said with a grin, then to Dumbledore. "Hello, Professor. Sorry to just burst into your fireplace like this. I'm not interrupting am I? I tried your"—and by now he was quite clearly speaking to Minerva again—"house but your mother said you here working on your animagus stuff."

"No, you didn't interrupt," she answered him and moving towards the fire. She knelt down next to where Malcolm's head sat. "We were just finished. Is there something you want, Mal?"

"Just wondering if you wanted to come over here and spend the rest of the afternoon with me. It's a gorgeous day. We could spend most of it outside," he grinned at her again before adding, "I already asked your mum. She was quite pleased about the idea actually."

Minerva blushed. Her mother was exceptionally fond of Malcolm. It was one thing she would never argue with her about. Malcolm was something special.

"All right. I'll be right there then."

"Cool."

And Malcolm's head disappeared from the fire with a pop.

Minerva turned around to face Professor Dumbledore. "Well, I'll be going then, Professor. I'll see you Tuesday."

"Have fun with your young man, Minerva," he told her.

She hoped he did not notice her bright red cheeks as she flooed away to Malcolm's house.

Malcolm was waiting for her at the other end and helped her gently from the fireplace, brushing a bit of ash from her favorite tartan robes.

"Hey there," he greeted and kiss her softly.

"Hi," she returned, once they'd broken apart. They stood quietly in one another's arms for a few moments, their foreheads pressed together and staring into each other's eyes. The look in Malcolm's eyes was one of pure adoration and Minerva wished that she could shine him with such looks as often as he did her.

She wondered guiltily why she seemed to desire something with a man so much her senior that her affections went easily unnoticed. This thought was quickly pushed from her mind. She was here to enjoy her time with Malcolm, not wallow in her guilt.

"Let's go outside," she suggested.

They left the house, which was actually a large well maintained cottage, and walked hand in hand to their spot, which, like the cottage, was high on the slopes of a mountain. They lay down together under the single old hardy tree that somehow managed to grow at that height and simply looked at the surrounding mountain range. It was breathtaking and contrasted starkly with the peaceful lake and forest near Dumbledore's home.

It occurred, not for the first time, to Minerva that both of the settings matched their inhabitants terribly well.


	8. Year Five at Hogwarts: Break Up

"You can't keep going on like this, Min," Muriel whispered as she and Minerva studied together in the library. "You're most invested in your relationship with Professor Dumbledore than in your relationship with Malcolm. Mal adores you. You can't just keep string him along like this."

Minerva wanted to open her mouth and tell Muriel that she was not stringing Malcolm along. She liked Malcolm.

But was that really right?

She had to admit that she was even spending more time with Al—Professor Dumbledore than with Malcolm. She thought about him more. She . . .

Wasn't that the definition of stringing somebody along? Shouldn't she just break up with him like Muriel kept saying she should?

"I can't break up with him, Muriel."

"Right," she snorted. "Because that would be giving in to the fact that you're so in love with Professor Dumbledore and that would be losing."

"I am not in love with him!" Minerva hissed at Muriel through her teeth. "And this isn't about winning or losing."

"That is exactly my point, Min. You have to break up with him. For his own sake. You're not as invested in that relationship as even you want to be. That's not a good thing."

Minerva put her head in her hands. "I can't help but feel like that's a mistake. All it would mean would be that I let him down. That I couldn't be loyal enough to him to keep my eyes in my head and stay away from Professor Dumbledore."

"No," Muriel told her firmly. "If I've said it once I've said it a million times. You letting him down is you not going and breaking up with him right now. It's the only decent thing to do."

/E/E/E/E/E/

"Hey, Minerva, how did lessons go?" asked Hermes as Minerva entered the Gryffindor common room through the portrait hole.

"I did it. I transformed for the first time."

The Gryffindor common room, which was usually buzzing with talk at this hour, suddenly fell into silence. Then, all at once, the noise started back up again at twice its original volume. It was common knowledge around the school that Minerva was working on becoming an animagus and that that was why she spent so many hours a week with Professor Dumbledore—not that that stopped the Slytherins from making crude jokes—and everybody was eager to find out what kind of animagus Minerva was. Hermes, who at age sixteen was now (thankfully) the average height of most girls, was practically hopping up and down with excitement.

Malcolm stood nearby, a proud, somewhat gloating smile on his face. This was the girl he was dating and not only was she something quite an impressive person without all this animagus stuff (she was a Prefect now and everyone was very certain she would go on to be Head Girl) but she'd just now accomplished something very amazing. He would love Minerva if she were the biggest slacker in school, but right now he was more than pleased to call her his.

"So what are you?"

"A cat."

"Goddammit!" Hermes roared. Minerva shot him a look that was both piercing and questioning. "I made a bet with Dan before he graduated last year about what you would be. I thought you'd be something fiercer, so I just lost ten galleons," he said by way of explanation.

"Just don't tell him," someone said, and Minerva was very surprised to see that it was Dan's own girlfriend, that red-head that he'd been too enchanted by to approach for simply years, who'd suggested it.

"Wait a minute," said Hermes warily. "You mean you wouldn't tell him?"

"Of course not," she said with a light, airy laugh. "If I did I would have to listen to him brag about being right."

The entire common room joined loudly into her laughter and Minerva, who was not the type who liked to be the center off attention like this, began to hope they'd forgotten about her transformation. What she really wanted right now was to be left alone and go to bed. Transforming into a cat for the first time had been exhausting, and she was going to have to do it many more times before she became integrated with it and able to transform at will—in other words before she became a true animagus.

Her hopes of getting quickly to bed without being pelted by the curiosities of her fellow Gryffindors were dashed when someone yelled out a request for a transformation.

It was a long while before Minerva was able to adequately explain to them exactly how exhausting the entire process was and that she was in desperate need of sleep right then. The crowd around her broke apart, with some people breaking into conversations with their friends and others that were more prone to procrastination beginning their homework. Hermes gave her a rather energetic congratulations and wished her a good night, before beginning his Muggle Studies homework.

Only Malcolm followed her to the stairs of her dormitory.

"Good night," he told her, wrapping his arms comfortably about her and placing a kiss on her forehead. "I know your tired and want to sleep, but I just wanted to tell you that I'm very pleased that you accomplished your first transformation tonight. Hopefully you'll be a registered animagus soon and then we can make up for all that time you've had to devote to becoming one."

The meaning behind his words swam about her head. Her guilt pounded at her from all sides. She wished he hadn't missed her. She wished that he cared less about her. She wished that she cared more about him. Either one. It didn't matter. She just wanted something to make this easier.

"Malcolm, I . . ." She stopped. She didn't know what to say. Was she going to break up with him? Right here and right now, when she was so tired and they were here within sight of the majority of Gryffindor?

No, she couldn't do that.

"What is it?" he asked her, his eyebrows—darker than his golden hair but still very light in color—knitted together in an expression of worry.

"Nothing," she answered him and wondered vaguely whether he had any idea what was going on in her head. "Good night, Mal."

She graced him with a short kiss, then slipped out of his welcoming arms and up to her dormitory. She changed into her tartan dressing gown and slipped herself under the covers for some much needed sleep.

She was very grateful for her exhaustion and the subsequent result that sleep was not at all long in coming.

/E/E/E/E/E/

"Checkmate, Professor," said Minerva, with what was undoubtably the largest, most triumphant smile she had worn in simply years.

It had suddenly dawned on her tonight, when they'd played their game of chess after her animagus lesson—which now that she had made her transformation a few times were far less exhausting than they had been—why it was that it had always appeared to her before that she was about to win and then he'd always managed to pull himself out of it. He was an easily distracted person. He would become preoccupied with either beating her instead of defending himself or with one of the many thoughts that flowed in and out his head and he would simply not notice her putting herself in a position to win. The only reason she'd not beaten him before was that she'd allowed her moves and body language to become aggressive enough to tip him off to her intentions while he still had a chance.

Having suddenly figured out why she had never won before, Minerva had been careful to not only not give away what she was doing in regards to his king, but to distract him from it. She won magnificently as well as quite efficiently.

He smiled broadly back at her, the familiar twinkle in his lovely blue eyes. "Did I not promise you that you would beat me, Minerva?"

She nodded at him. "You did indeed, Professor."

And she could see why. He was not great strategist. Neither was she, but she was not bad and she only kept getting better. She seemed to have inherited some of her father's better strategic abilities—and he was widely regarded as the best military commander of their world. It was her father who, as the cloud of Grindelwald grew darker and darker, everyone expected to be the one to defeat Grindelwald and save them.

Albus, no, _Professor Dumbledore_, was quite aware that he was no McGonagall as far strategy went. He knew his weaknesses in the most amazing way. The more Minerva was around him, the more she saw that and the more she admired him.

"My mind is often occupied by a variety of things. It was only a matter of time."

They began to clear away the chess pieces, which were stationary again now that they were through playing with them, and Minerva found herself allowing her hand to brush with his far more than was necessary. It was with no small amount of effort that there was not a trace of a blush on her fair cheeks at the impurity of her thoughts when this occurred.

"Would you like some hot chocolate?" asked Dumbledore as he placed the last of the chess pieces, a rook, into its case and snapped it shut. "We could celebrate your victory."

Amusement bubbled up in Minerva at his words. Albus had an awful sweet tooth. He would often munch on candies as they played chess together. He had a particular favorite, but it was some strange thing that she did not know the name of and had never bothered to ask about. She wasn't terribly fond of most candies and did not see the point.

"Any excuse for something sweet," she commented.

His deep laugh filled the air. "You know me too well, my dear."

Oh, how intimate that sounded to her ears. She knew him better than any of his other students and even some of his fellow staff members because of the sheer amount of time she spent with him. It was something they were both well aware of, but only he ever mentioned it. It did not have the connotations to him that it did to her. She was quite certain he was completely unaware of how she felt.

_A fact that I am eternally grateful for_, she thought. _There would be nothing worse than him finding out. He'd probably start avoiding me completely in order to keep from encouraging me. It would be the right thing to do. It's what I should do. I should go straight back to Gryffindor tower. The last thing I should do is go enjoy something warm and sweet with him._

She wanted to blush at the wording of her own thoughts. It sounded completely inappropriate. It was a bad sign, she knew. At least early on her little infatuation had been completely innocent.

_I should go straight back to Gryffindor tower_, she told herself again.

But she did not want to. She wanted to have hot chocolate with him and talk and laugh and have fun with him. After all, there was nothing wrong with going and having an innocent cup of hot chocolate with him. Nothing would ever happen between them. He, thankfully, had no idea how she felt and even if she did, she knew that he would have more sense than to ever do anything. Not only was it wrong—and she knew it was, she was not even of age yet and she would not be for over a year—but he would be put in a potential to lose his job, as well as him excellent reputation in the magical world over it. He would never allow it, and that made all of her time spent with him okay.

"I shouldn't indulge you," she told him, "but I suppose I will. I'm such a softy."

He laughed again. "Indeed you are, my dear, despite your quite valiant efforts to be otherwise."

She followed him down to the kitchens so they could inform the house elves there of their need for an evening drink. Even as she walked beside him, discussing nothing of great importance, for such silly things were Albus' favorite topics of conversation, she knew that her decision to go with him, one based on the idea that there was nothing wrong with how she felt as long as she did not act on her feelings, was the final nail in the coffin of her romance with poor Malcolm.


	9. Summer: Spies

There had never been a more frantic knocking on the door to McGonagall Manor. At least there had been none in Minerva's memory and likely there had been few in the long history of the house.

Minerva, who slept lightly and was the only other person in the mansion other than her father (who did not), moved quickly through the house's long, dark hallways and down the antique stairs to answer the door, wondering vaguely, though somewhat sleepily, who could possibly be knocking at their door. Most people they knew simply contacted them through the floo network and the muggles that lived in the nearby village regarded them as a rather odd family. She could think of no one who would actually come up to their door and knock on it in the dead of night.

She opened the door to a man she vaguely recognized as one of her father's friends. The man's greying hair was full of sweat and standing wildly on end. His eyes, an odd yellowish color, were wild with terror. A slight bit of fear began to seed itself in Minerva as she looked upon the man. What on earth could possibly have frightened him so?

"Minerva!" he choked, as he hung onto the doorframe for support. "Thank God! Run and get your father, child. Hurry! They can't be far behind me."

She did not need to ask who "they" were. She was already quite aware. "They" were—"they" could only be—Grindelwald's followers. This was one of her father's spies and she could tell by his attitude that he'd done two things of great consequence. First, he'd found out something important that her father needed to hear about immediately. Second, he'd been uncovered as a spy. Grindelwald and his followers knew what he was and that he knew something they did not want him to know. As a result, they were chasing after him.

They were chasing him, and he'd come here. Here to the McGonagall Manor—to her home. Grindelwald's followers were not far behind him and he was standing on her doorstep, gasping for air.

Minerva hurtled herself from the doorway and up the stairs towards her parents bedroom. Partially propelled by the wild fear that had taken hold of her—for there was nothing more frightening to her than the idea of Grindelwald himself, the scourge of the magical world, turning up at her front door—she moved faster than she could ever remember moving.

"Father!" she called, bursting into the room. "Father!"

She moved to him and began shaking him into wakefulness.

_Come on!_ she thought desperately. _Wake up!_

Her father's hazel eyes began fluttering open. The fog of drowsiness in them began to disappear quickly as they focused on Minerva's face.

"Minerva?" he said, sitting up. "What is it?"

"A man is at the door. He says it's urgent."

He looked at her appraisingly for a second.

"It's one of your spies!" she told him in exasperation. What was he doing just sitting there staring at her for? He, better than anyone else, knew exactly what it meant and how dangerous it was when someone seemingly randomly showed up at their house saying something was urgent.

Her father's eyes widened and he flew out of bed. He was running down the stairs, his black hair, normally tied into a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck, flowing out behind him. He reached the front door long before Minerva did and by the time she could hear her father and his spy speaking they were already deep in conversation.

"And you're certain that's what they plan to do?" her father asked.

The spy nodded. "I cannot be certain how, exactly, that he is planning on doing it—I was found out about then—but that much I know."

Minerva's father looked more anxious to her than she'd ever seen him. "This could be an awful blow to us . . . Not only a great loss, but a terrible moral defeat for us. If we lose that castle, then people will lose hope."

Minerva wanted desperately to know exactly where her father was talking about. What could possibly be so important to the magical world that people would lose hope if they lost it? Was it the Ministry of Magic? Losing the center of their government would certainly be an amazing blow, but she had a hard time believing that Grindelwald could do that. He was powerful, that was quite certain, by the Ministry was on watch for him day and night. It did not seem possible or wise for him to attack the Ministry.

Where was it, then, that he was planning on attacking?

The spy nodded. "I must go, Tempus. I would hate to lead Grindelwald's men straight here to you and your family."

"As would I," her father agreed. "Thank you, Thomas. I will make sure that Hogwarts is secured against Grindelwald's coming attack. Go strait to the Ministry. The aurors should be more than able to protect you."

Suddenly her father's words made sense to Minerva. Hogwarts, though covered in protective barriers and protective charms, was quite vulnerable during the summer when most of the teachers were gone. A moonless summer night like this one was the perfect time to go and take the place that everyone associated with the future of magic. People would undeniably lose hope if Grindelwald succeeded.

Minerva felt sick to her stomach at the idea of Grindelwald walking through the halls of the castle that she spend most of the year in. Of him poking around in the office where she and Albus played chess . . .

But now, at least her father knew what Grindelwald was planning. He would never let that come to pass. Never. He was the greatest strategist alive. He was the greatest _leader_ alive. He was the one who was going to bring Grindelwald down. Hogwarts was quite safe.

Some distance away, up on a hill and beyond the thick line of pine trees that surrounded the old gothic manor, a number of witches and wizards appeared. They began to move forward, toward the house, but were stopped by a barrier charm. A blonde figure moved forward through the small congregation and a series of red lights began firing at the barrier. Whoever that person was, they were trying to destroy the barrier.

_My father made that barrier himself_, thought Minerva. _There's no way that one of Grindelwald's idiot followers could get through it_.

But there was worry filling Minerva's stomach with what felt like lead. Her father was powerful, but there were a lot of people there and Grindelwald's followers were not all powerless. She felt scared—and the fact was that there was very good reason to be.

She saw the barrier shimmer. It was coming down. The deep blue hue that her hazel eyes normally held, began to pale perceptibly with fear. There had to be at least fifteen people there. Fifteen witches and wizards against two aged wizards and a sixteen year old witch. The odds were far from ideal.

She pelted back upstairs to her room. She'd been in such a hurry to get the door, and then to get to her father that she'd left her wand sitting on her night stand. She snatched the thin piece of ebony from where it sat peacefully in the moonlight and returned to the front door.

By the time she'd returned, her father's spy was gone. Minerva hadn't the faintest idea where he'd gone to. Had he just abandoned her father? There were fifteen people out there, ready to kill him. Her father had survived many assassination attempts, it was true, but that did not make leaving him to fend for himself at all loyal or even smart.

"Where's—"

But her father cut her off before she could finish her question. "I sent him to the Ministry, where he'd be safe. All he has to do is get through the trees and outside of the barrier so he can disapparate."

Minerva wondered vaguely whether her father was overestimating his spy's abilities to get away. She personally thought that both men would have been safer fending off their enemies together. Why the man had agreed to make a mad run for some distant idea of safety like a coward?

Her father turned toward her, his eyes hard and as green as the leaves in summer. His face, normally impassive and serene in its statue-esque good looks had never looked so stern. "You're to turn in you cat form and go to the Ministry as well, Minerva."

Minerva's mouth fell quickly open, a million and one arguments hot on her tongue. Her being an animagus was not some nifty tool to allow him to send her away when he needed all the help he could get. She was going to stay here and defend her father and her home. There was simply nothing else to be done. She was a Gryffindor and moreover she was a _McGonagall_. How could he expect her to, in a very literal sense, just turn tail and run?

"That's rubbish. I'm going to stay right here."

"You will do no such thing," he told her firmly. He pointed up to the top of the hill, where the lone wizard had just brought down the barrier. "Do you have any idea who that is, Minerva? That man marching up to our home is Grindelwald. He's come here because he finally knows exactly where I am and he's planning on getting rid of me."

Minerva's mouth flew open yet again. He held up a hand and she closed it as he continued.

"I may be able to end this tonight, Minerva. We could finally be free of Grindelwald. I can promise you, however, that that will not happen if I'm at all occupied with worries for your safety. Do you understand that?"

She nodded, her wand hanging limply in her hand. She felt more worried than she could ever possibly have imagined she could. That and terrified. She'd never been more scared. What if he failed? What would that mean for their world? For Hogwarts? For their family?

For herself.

More powerful than either of those emotions, however, was the powerful feeling of uselessness that filled her. There was nothing she could do in any of this. Trying to do something would be worse than doing nothing.

She seized her father in a hug tighter than any she'd given him since the age of eight. He squeezed her back firmly, and kissed her ebony hair. "I love you, Minerva. If I do not come out of this alive, make sure that your mother and siblings know the same."

She nodded wordlessly and disentangled herself from her father's arms. She had the most awful feeling in the pit of her stomach. She transformed into her animagi form of a tabby cat and walked slowly out of her home, throwing baleful glances back at her father as though begging him to reconsider.

Her father did not look at her as she walked away. Nor did he reconsider. Instead, he simply took a resolute step out of the doorway and toward the coming threat. He was going to meet the attacking force head on. They would likely not expect that. Normally his tactics were cautious and calculated. Meeting them directly, being so vastly outnumbered was reckless and hopefully that would give him the advantage of surprise. Then he could use the cover of the trees and use gorilla warfare against them.

There was a fair chance he could win this. That's what his tactical sense told him at least. His heart simply told him he was never going to see his wife and children again.


	10. Summer: Death

Minerva moved quietly along next to her father, using the shadow of the trees to keep him from seeing her feline self. In the end, she'd been unable to leave him behind. She knew that she could do nothing to help him, but it still felt wrong to leave him behind with no one but himself as an ally.

The progression of Tempus McGonagall was quick and stealthy. He wove in and out through the trees, moving quickly towards the spot where he'd last seen Grindelwald and his followers atop the hill. They were somewhere in this forest now, moving towards him. His eyes scanned the shadowy forest endlessly, searching for any sign of his would-be assassins.

The sounds of many talking voices reached Minerva's delicate ears before anything else. She heard them laughing. They'd killed somebody . . .

The voices next reached the less acute ears of Tempus. He paused to listen to them, trying to pick up on what it was they were saying. Perhaps it was something useful.

"Ruddy spy," said a low voice, confirming both Minerva and her father's suspicions about the identity of the dead body that could now be faintly seen on the forest floor. "Should have just stayed with McGonagall, 'stead of running for it. Would have given his death," and here a sneer entered the voice, "_meaning_."

Quiet laughter filled the night. Grindelwald's followers thought that man's death was funny. Minerva knew that she should expect no less from people who had done the things these people had, but it still made her sick to hear their ringing laughter.

Tempus' eyes cast about the ground, looking for a second body. Minerva had not been too terribly far behind Thomas. He'd been afraid that perhaps they would have discovered her as well. It was an irrational fear—it was unlikely that they would ever recognize the tabby cat with the square markings about her eyes for what she was—but she was his youngest child. Such were the fears of a parents, rational or no.

A sigh of relief escaped him. Minerva's triangular ears swivelled toward him as he did and she stared at him curiously. What on earth had made him sigh like that? Was he suddenly worried about the odds against him?

She wanted to help him. She wanted to turn back into a girl and use her wand to take each and every single one of those people out. He was her father. She didn't want him to die. Not here. Not now. Not thinking he was alone with no one to help him. She was here. She wanted to do something.

But she couldn't. Her father's words reverberated endlessly in her head. He would not survive if he was worried about protecting her. She could not let him know she was here. She could not afford to have him thinking she was here and needed to be protected. She refused to have her father's death on her hands. She would not be stupid. No matter how much her heart screamed at her that she should be.

The laughter of Grindelwald's followers was beginning to die down. They would soon be back to searching for Tempus. Grindelwald could not be soon, and Tempus was not certain where the dark wizard might be, but now was the time to strike. He would not get a better opportunity to cut down the number of people he was up against. He would simply have to hope that Grindelwald would not turn up unexpectedly.

He moved quickly through the cover of the trees, circling around the witches and wizards standing around Thomas' body. Ducking around a tree, he made his move.

"_Stupefy_!"

A tall witch with thick brown hair fell to the ground, stunned, as Tempus melted back into the trees. He moved quickly away and then back, reemerging to stun a short wizard with a receding hairline. Tempus was again away before the man had hit the ground and his companions had had time to respond.

A third time this occurred, but by then Grindelwald's follower's were ready. Spells flew everywhere as they tried to catch their phantom attacker.

Nearly hit by a Body-Bind Curse, Minerva skidded to a halt and quickly propelled herself up a tree and out of the line of fire. There were curses and hexes everywhere. She'd even heard someone use the Killing Curse.

She could not see her father. She hoped he was all right. Her eyes, the eyes of a skilled predator, quickly scanned the shadows. She could barely make out his outline against a far tree. He seemed fine.

How long would he be fine, though? There were at least ten more witches and wizards looking for him and ready to curse him into oblivion as soon as they found him.

Tempus moved in again for the attack. This time two wizards went down, but Minerva could smell her father's singed hair from her treetop perch as a hex whizzed over his head. She could not sit by and do nothing. There had to be something she could do. Not being able to help her own father against such a multitude of opponents . . . It was lunacy.

Suddenly it came to her. If she changed into her human form up here and fired off spells at them, then changed back into the tabby cat and moved to another tree she could help her father and never let him know that she was there. In the confusion of all the spells flying about down there, they would just think that she was her father and her father would never know she was there. He would be not be distracted by concerns for her safety because he would be unaware of her presence.

She quickly resumed her human form and stunned to witches situated almost right below her. Changing quickly back into the tabby, she sprang away to another tree. Three more people fell in quick succession. Suddenly things were looking far better. Between Minerva and her father the numbers of their opponents were decreasing rapidly.

"He's up there, in the trees! Get him!"

"No, no, you fool! He's over here!"

A flash of blue light burned through the pine needles of the tree Minerva was perched in. Yells followed her as she sprang quickly from tree top to tree top, scrambling to stay ahead of the curses they threw after her.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

And suddenly Minerva found herself evading no more curses. She stopped and looked down at her pursuers. They were all staring at the tall figure she knew to be Grindelwald. He stood no more than 10 feet from the body of her father's spy, his wand pointed in front of him. A body lay on the ground in front of him, spread eagle and unmoving.

_It can't be_, Minerva thought. _It's impossible. Not my father. **Not my father!**_

She was again springing from tree to tree, moving quickly towards the spot where her father lay. It couldn't be true. She knew it couldn't be. Her father still had many years left to live. His life could not have been ended now. She would not believe it had been until she had clearly seen that that body was his. Until she'd seen it and proven that he was not simply stunned or in an enchanted sleep.

"We are finished here. Let us go," said a deep voice.

"But, mein Fuhrer, he had a companion. Surely we should not let that ally esca—"

"He had no companion," the voice boomed. "You were chasing nothing more than an ordinary house cat. I saw the creature myself. You are all very foolish. Now, come! I have an attack to make tonight."

He swept away, his red and black robes swirling around him. His companion all following quickly behind him, falling into a neat formation like a well-trained army. Keeping her wits about her, Minerva waited until they were well away before she came down from the tree. She did not want Grindelwald to reconsider his analysis of her as "ordinary."

She leapt quickly down from her tree and transformed back into the tall, raven-haired teenage girl that she usually was. She ran as fast as she could to her father's body, falling to her knees beside him and wrapping her arms his body. He was still warm.

"Father," she whispered into his ear. "Father!"

She shook him, as she had done earlier that night when trying to wake him. His eyes did not flutter open as they had before. He was dead. She knew he was dead. She just did not want to believe it.

Tears sprang into her hazel eyes. She tried to fight them, wiping them quickly away with the back of her hand as they leaked from her eyes. She did not want to cry. It was something she rarely did, but here in the pine forest outside of her home with her father lying dead in her arms, she did. She could not help herself.

She pulled his large, limp form to her and, finding that she could not fight her tears, embraced them. She cried openly into her father's robes, leaving a large wet stain on the emerald material. For nearly twenty minutes she did this, until she felt she had no more tears left to cry.

With the ending of her tears, so returned her wits. She was the only one, now, who knew of the impending attack on Hogwarts. She had to warn them. She had to save the castle. Her father would have wanted her to do that, she was sure. She could waste no more time here with a man who would never again awaken.

She ran back to McGonagall Manor as quickly as she could. She knew exactly who she would go to. Albus. He would know exactly what to do. She'd always thought of him as a pillar of strength and a man who was never without a plan. That was the person she needed to tell.

That was the person she needed to save from a fate the same as her father's.

She wrenched open the front door to the manor and ran into the living room, where a fireplace stood cold and empty of flames. She pointed her wand at it.

"_Infernio_!"

A fire sprang quickly to life in the fireplace. She grabbed a handful of floo powder from a jar sitting on the mantel and stepped into the flames.

"Dumbledore's summer home!"

And with a flash of emerald flames, she disappeared.


	11. Summer: Flight

"Professor?" Minerva called into the darkness of Albus' summer home. "I'm sorry to wake you, Professor, but I have to talk with you! Hogwarts is in danger!"

No answer greeted Minerva's ears. Albus must still have been asleep. He was probably a heavy sleeper. It did fit with his personality. An image of Albus snoring peacefully under his plum colored sheets as a small silver whistle blared obstinately in his ear appeared in Minerva's mind at the thought. If the situation had not been so grave, she would have laughed it was so ridiculous. As it was, she did not.

Feeling like quite the intruder, but not letting it slow her movements in the least, she moved through his living room. She brushed quickly past the green sofa and up the stairs towards his bedroom. The silliest bit of embarrassed apprehension filled Minerva. She may have been close to Albus, but they were still most definitely teacher and pupil, no matter how she might feel about him. This being the case, the idea of entering his private domain while he was using them grated against her sense of propriety. This was quickly and quite resolutely pushed aside, however. There were far more important things at hand than silly things such as that. Such things were strong instincts in her but there were others that were far stronger and she was no fool.

It was a small concession to her sense of propriety that she paused for a moment to rap urgently on his bedroom door. A few seconds wasted on knocking put her back very little. Simply barging on something that could possibly be embarrassing for both parties was the sort of the things that could cost them minutes that they simply did not have.

No sound issued from within the bedroom to answer her knock. Not even Fawkes woke to give her a response. There was simply silence.

With a warm-hearted amusement the thought _lazy Phoenix_ flitted across her mind as she sucked in a quick breath and wasted no more of her precious time and walked straight into Albus' bedroom.

Albus was not where he should have been. He was not asleep in his bed. He was not in his bedroom at all. The bed was, in fact, made and Fawkes, as well as his golden perch, was gone as well.

Panic filled Minerva.

_My God, where is he?_ she thought frantically. He was the one she knew to go to for this. He was the one she knew could save Hogwarts now that her father was dead and she had no idea where he was.

He was not at all where she'd thought—where she'd automatically assumed—he'd be, and as the precious seconds fell away like so many grains of sand in an hourglass Minerva found herself frozen in indecision. Where could he be?

Though most of the world would never know it, they were quite lucky that a state of such indecision was not one Minerva to staying in. The wheels in her head simply turned too quickly and her spirit was one of far too much determination for such things. Her mind quickly moved through the possibilities of where Albus could be and how to find out such things.

_Hogwarts_, she thought suddenly, the answer coming to her like a flash of brilliant lightning. _He's at Hogwarts. He told me before summer vacation that he had some work he still needed to finish. He must be staying at Hogwarts for the night to complete it._

It was no more than half a second later that ful impact of what this meant hit her. Albus was at the school. He was right at the place that was about to be attacked, likely sleeping comfortably in his bed and completely unaware of the danger he was in. Most people would have rejoiced at the idea that the person needed to defeat the threat was right where he needed to be, but Minerva, more emotionally attached to him than she cared to be but still attached none the less, felt as though her heart had suddenly frozen in her chest. It had completely stopped and was gripped with an icy cold. She could have vomited from her sudden worry.

It was instinct more than anything else that propelled her down the stairs and back towards Albus' fireplace. She would not lose two people in the course of one night to the same evil. She simply refused. She had to reach Albus. There was simply no question about it.

She threw her arm forward and pointed it at the fireplace yelling an incantation. Fire spewed forth from the thin piece of ebony and began roaring soundly in the fireplace. Albus' bowl of floo powder sat where it always did on a table near the fireplace. Grabbing it as she ran past it and knocking it straight to the floor where some of it scattered upward in a small flurry of dust, she tossed it ahead of her into the fire and literally ran headlong into the green flames.

"Hogwarts!" she yelled firmly and in a flash of emerald and then a burst of purple she was thrown back from Albus' fireplace and onto the hardwood floor.

She shook and picked up herself up off the floor. She swore loudly. That had been stupid. In her worry for Albus she simply hadn't thought. One could not simply floo into Hogwarts. It did not accept unannounced visitors. It was one of the protective enchantments around the school that _Hogwarts, A History_ had detailed. She couldn't believe that she'd forgotten something so simple. She needed to think more carefully about what she was doing. It was of the utmost importance that she get to Hogwarts quickly and warn him.

She was left with few options. She could not apparate and even if she were able to no one could apparate within Hogwarts' grounds anyway. A portkey could get in and out but one needed to be in a high administrative position within the school for any portkey with Hogwarts set as either the destination or the point of departure. Moreover, making a portkey was advanced magic that she had not learned yet.

She sighed. It was a number of miles from Albus' summer home to Hogwarts and she was going to have to get there by broomstick. This was going to take at least a couple of hours.

Now where did Albus keep his broomstick? Had he even left it here? She hoped so.

She did not have the time to look for it, assuming it was here. "_Accio Albus' broomstick_!"

She waited a few moments, to no avail. He'd obviously taken it with him. She would have to run back home to get her own broomstick then return here to start her journey. She would lose at least another two hours more than she already was if she started from home.

She bent down and grabbed a handful of floo powder from where it had spilled on the floor then flooed back to McGonagall Manor.

She blasted the lock off of the broom cupboard where her family stored their broomsticks. Ever since she'd had her fall back in her third year her mother had kept her broomstick locked up with an enchanted lock in the broom cupboard so she could not get to it without her father. It was her mother's insurance that she would not be flying around playing "that horrible sport" by herself.

Minerva pulled open the now splintered wood door and pulled her pride and joy, her Silver Arrow, out of it place in the cupboard.

After a moment's thought, she went up to her room and grabbed a cloak. The night was not a cold one—it was the middle of summer—but the sky above the clouds where she would be fly undoubtably would be. Another moment's thought had her grabbing a map of Britain with an enchanted dot on it that indicated where the user currently was. Hogwarts may have been unplottable but Hogsmeade certainly was not and if she could find that easily than getting to the castle would not be a problem.

She flooed quickly back to Albus', eager to get started and not waste any more time than she needed to. She was already afraid that delay might make her too late. She had no idea when they would be commencing their attack. She just hoped they would still be preparing for a long while yet.

/E/E/E/E/E/

The more time Minerva spent in the air, the more her worry for Albus' safety mounted and the faster she urged her broom to go. She was bone-cold—cloaks were not exactly ideal for flying, given their propensity for flying behind one do to the wind, and this was a light summer cloak. She paid it no heed, however. Her only concern was for Albus. The idea of him being hurt or even killed was unbearable to him. She would do absolutely anything to make sure that he came out of this all right. It was an irony, really. He was her teacher. His job was to protect her, not the other way around, but she did not—simply could not—care. He meant too much to her. She did not care if she fell off her broomstick to her death because of the abuse she was putting herself through as long as she somehow managed to get her message to Albus first.

It was with extreme relief that she touched down in front of Hogwarts' gates. Knowing that she would be unable to fly in but also that animals could freely pass in and out of the grounds, she quickly transfigured her beloved broom into a pocket watch that she could keep on her person and then transformed into her tabby cat self. She slipped easily into the grounds through the iron gates and ran headlong for the castle entrance.

The large wooden doors were, of course, closed, but there were many ways in which something as small as a tabby cat could enter the castle and having lived in the castle for the majority of the last five years Minerva knew many of them. She had no trouble getting herself into the castle.

There was not one moment when Minerva broke from her run as she pelted towards Albus' office—which she knew connected directly to his living quarters, though the entrance was hidden by some mundane looking portrait or statue or other such object and protected by a password. It was the place to start.

She transformed back into her human form as she neared his office, not bothering to quit running. She simply moved as fast as she could towards the door. A quick _Alohomora_ charm unlocked the door and she was within her professor's office, yelling out his name and searching with as much speed as her panting form could manage for the entrance to his sleeping quarters.

"Good lord, girl! What's your problem? Yelling about like that. Some us are trying to sleep!" a portrait of wizened old wizard yelled at her.

"I have to see Professor Dumbledore," she told him. "Where's the entrance to his quarters?"

"Well, they're . . . Hey wait a minute! The students are gone for the summer! Who the bloody hell are you?"

"Never mind that!" she told him fiercely. What a time for him to collect his senses are start asking stupid questions. "This is important. Now tell me how to find him."

"There's no need to tell her anything, Darmond," said the tall figure of her professor from in front of an opening in the wall. "Please continue your disturbed rest. I shall be quite happy to help Miss McGonagall."

The man in the portrait nodded that and settled himself back into a resting position, closing his eyes.

"Well, I must admit that I am quite surprised to see you here, Minerva. I would have thought that you would have been comfortably asleep in your bed right now."

She rushed forward ton him. "Professor, I had to come here. You see—"

"Minerva, you're positively frozen!" Albus exclaimed, catching clear sight of her stiff red face and hands for the first time by the light of the torch he'd lit in his room. "Come sit by the fire, and warm yourself."

He pointed his wand at the fireplace and instantly a fire was roaring there as though it had been for hours. Ignoring her protests about the unimportance of her warmth, he pushed her firmly into his room and sat her down in a plush chair by the fire.

"Professor!" Minerva yelled, exasperated by his actions in light of how much danger they were all in—not that he knew about that of course. She'd not yet been able to tell him. "Professor, Grindelwald is going to be attacking the castle! Tonight! We've got to do something!"

Albus stopped what he was doing immediately and turned to look at her. "How do you know this, Minerva?"

With exasperation, she told him her tale. How the spy had come to her house and how she'd found out about the impending attack.

How her father had been killed by Grindelwald, vainly hoping that he'd be able to kill him and stop the war. How she'd done all she could to help him and failed. It was concise and she went into few details, only telling him what he needed to know.

"And then I turned about and saw my father dead." Tears sprang unbidden into her eyes at the mention of this. She did not want to cry right now. This was not the time, but the tears came anyway, silently slipping down her cheeks as she told Albus of how she'd tried to reach him at his home and had been unable to.

She finished the story with her flight to the castle and infiltration as a cat. More tears spilled down her cheeks and she felt Albus pulling her into a tight embrace. She never wanted to leave it. She felt safe here.

She wanted to run away. She and Albus could leave Hogwarts together and live in secret, never worrying about the death and destruction Grindelwald brought and living happily together.

But that would never happen. She and Albus were not lovers who could run off into the night together and even if they were, she knew it was not something she could allow herself to do. Escaping was not the answer. She knew that. Stopping Grindelwald was the answer. Fighting him and not allowing him to make them live in fear forever was the answer. It was a truth she clung to.

"I'm sorry about your father, Minerva," Albus told her as he held her to him, thinking of how a child such as this one should never be put through such things as that. She was far to precious. War and the tyrants that caused it harmed far too many precious things. "Come, we shall head to the Headmaster's office. We must mobilize if we are to protect the castle."

With a glance back at the welcoming, roaring fire, Minerva followed Albus from his room. She watched it crackle there and forlornly it occurred to her that if she would have simply flooed him a message instead of herself she could have avoided her two hour flight here. Here feelings for Albus had made her stupid more than once tonight. It was a disaster. The things that could have been done with that time . . .

But she was here now and what was done was done. The message had been delivered and at least she was her. She could protect Albus now as best she could. She could keep anything horrible from befalling him. At least the message had been delivered before Grindelwald had arrived. She could beat herself up over her mistakes later, when she had the time.


	12. Summer: Second in Command

Minerva had never had occasion to visit the Headmaster's office before. As such, she had absolutely no idea where it was located and was forced to allow herself to be guided there by the comforting hand Albus had rested on her shoulder for nearly the entirety of their hurried, half run, half walk to the stone gargoyle that would lead to the office. This was against her better judgement. In her own opinion she was far too excited by his touch to be allowing it to continue but she did so anyway.

Albus, on the other hand, had no idea the reaction such a simple action evoked in his student. Had he known, he likely would have removed it, but to him it was simple an action meant to be comforting. Unable to truly express his sympathies for what the girl had witnessed—the death of what he knew to be a very beloved father—because of the simple lack of time they both knew to be upon them, he'd simply placed his hand on her shoulder to express his sympathies. He'd never have dreamed that a girl some eighty years his junior would ever develop feelings for him. The fact that he saw her as a child prevented him from seeing what should have been obvious to him and kept his mind focused on the fact that it was unfair to have this sort of thing happen to a girl of sweet sixteen.

Minerva was not of an age where she should be in the middle of what would like be a very large and historical battle, yet here she was. In reality he knew that she was really no child in the strictest sense of the word. Chronologically she was nearing adulthood according to the customs of their world and she had always been old for her age. She had an old and wise soul in a young body. It was the reason all of her friends were at least one to four years older than herself. Maturity wise, Minerva was an adult really but that still did not make her place here. However mature she was, she was not an adult and should not have been thrust into a battle that was bigger than herself or anyone else involved.

At the end of the day she was still sixteen years old.

Assuming she survived the day that was. Albus briefly squeezed his prize student's shoulder. If they were unlucky none or few of them would survive to the end of the day. It was a great fear of his. Especially when Minerva could possibly number among the dead. He would hate to see _any_ of his students end up dead—but Minerva even more so. She was something special and was capable of many things. He'd known that for years. He would be doing everything he could to keep her out of harm's way during the fighting.

This idea was more than likely one his more foolish ones. Minerva would not be protected from danger like a helpless child and would not allow herself to be separated from Albus' side. As far as she was concerned she was under no one's protection but her own and she planned to stay with Albus come hell or high water. She needed no one to tell her what was some how an unchangeable, inescapable fact: her place was at Albus' side. She did not know how she knew this, or why it was true, but it was something she knew quite distinctly. Now, at the time of battle when he needed his allies about him, there was absolutely no where else she could possibly be.

Her unrequited love tied her, unbidden, to him and with him was exactly where she needed to be. The Fates would do well to help the person who tried to challenge that.

/E/E/E/E/E/

In Minerva's opinion going to the Headmaster had been a complete waste of time. Armando Dippet was, though adequate, not a particularly good headmaster and was most certainly not the type of leader needed in a crisis like this. It was Albus upon whom all of this had fallen and it seemed to Minerva that Armando Dippet was very much like a formality. He was doing absolutely nothing of importance and in essence was simply existing.

Albus was the real leader here. The Deputy Headmaster was the one leading the summoned aurors and teachers against Grindelwald and it was he that they were throwing their banner around. Somehow he inspired in people amazing things. People were scared, there was no denying it, and rightly so. If Hogwarts was lost then the education of the young would cease, and it was very important to keep educating them in times like these. Yet despite their fear, there was a growing confidence, a very certain sense of hope, and it was all Albus' doing. The power he radiated was unusual and astounding in its intensity. People could not help but trust in it and the man who possessed it. Minerva had never seen anything quite like it before. Suddenly, Albus was larger than life. He was something greater than all of them.

Minerva had to wonder who she was to presume to care about him as she did. He a great man doing something great. She could not measure up to that in any ways.

Moments when such thoughts invaded her minds were brief and far between, however. Minerva was quite aware that many people could not help but love things and people greater than themselves. She was simply no different.

Morever, Albus had his flaws and Minerva, more than most people, was very aware of this. After all, she had beaten him at chess nearly every time they'd played within the past couple of months. It was only a handful of games to be sure but she knew this was no fluke. Ever since her first win against him her number of losses had plummeted significantly. She had won more and more often since then. Albus was not the great strategist her father had been and she had made it her business to point out to him any flaws in his strategy that she'd seen. It was the least she could do for Hogwarts and for the great man she presumed to care for so.

It was this that had quickly made Minerva indispensable to Albus. A mind for battle plans and strategy was something she had quite clearly inherited from her father and he could not have asked for a better second in command. She far outdid any of the adults he had to choose from. Where he had weaknesses she had strengths and he trusted her and her judgement implicitly. The sixteen year old girl that he'd been intent to keep out of harm's way had turned out to be the perfect deputy commander for him. She'd simply fallen into the pivotal role as though she'd never been without it. He had no choice but to simply let her function in it. Trying to remove her from it, even under the justification of protecting her, would be disastrous. He would denying himself the best second in command he could possibly come by in this battle (and indeed perhaps at all). Cutting Minerva off from the battle would be like cutting off his right arm, and none of them could afford to fight this battle crippled. Young or not, she was the one for the job.

/E/E/E/E/E/

"If he's smart, he'll have a second wave prepared and ready to send in sometime soon," Minerva told Albus. "Not from the forest this time, though. He'll come in from two sides, large and obvious. There's no need to hide the attack anymore, everyone knows about it. The entirety of Hogsmeade is up here fighting with us." She sighed. "Our numbers are still going down though, and now that the villagers have fought their way up here, he's got us trapped at the castle here. The last message we managed to get out was hours ago. He can't be expecting us to get reinforcements." She sighed again, louder this time. "I'm not certain we'll get reinforcements. What the hell is the Ministry doing?"

"They are likely trying to find Grindelwald," Albus mused. "Behead the monster and it falls."

Minerva snorted in disgust, flaring her thin nostrils. "Sometimes it takes a while for a monster's limbs to notice. This is no sophisticated fighting force, lost without its leader. This is a band of ruffians, held in check by their leader. They're with him because they think what he is doing and that he started that Muggle war is amusing. They'll just keep coming and tear the castle apart for sport whether Grindelwald has been captured by the Ministry or not."

"If we never go after Grindelwald then the war will never end, Minerva. We can't win if we take no action."

"I'm not saying that we should never take aggressive action against Grindelwald, Albus." During the battle she'd accidentally fallen away from her habit of addressing him formally. Nobody, including Albus, cared, however. Given her position as his right hand, his best advisor and second in command, it seemed more appropriate for her to be doing that anyway.

"I'm just saying that now is not the time," she continued.

"We may yet see more Ministry officials at our aid," Albus told her.

She shook her head. "Can't count on it. Not until Grindelwald finally shows his face here and even then we shouldn't. I'd hate to be wrong about that and then lose."

Albus nodded. "You think Grindelwald will come here tonight as well, then?"

"Of course. This would be a great victory for him. He takes Hogwarts and his fight with the world is quite nearly over. It'd be like the first domino. He'll want to be here for it."

Albus smiled at her. "I had a feeling he would , but I didn't think it made tactical sense."

"That's because it doesn't," she told him tartly. "But Grindelwald shows a pattern in this area—a fairly consistent one. It was dinner talk between my father and Jove when he would come back home. Remember when Grindelwald took France?"

"Indeed I do."

"That was a classic example. It's the archetype for his pattern. He likes to sweep in and finish things up himself. He knows that most of his forces are incompetent."

Albus did not respond. Instead, he was staring at a point just beyond Minerva's shoulder with a thoughtful look on his face. Minerva scrutinized him carefully, wondering what on earth was going through his head.

Albus' eyes hardened and she saw him straighten his posture. He'd come to a decision about something.

"When Grindelwald arrives here I will be cutting off the head of the beast."

"I'm sorry?" asked Minerva incredulously.

"Grindelwald follows a distinct pattern. You just said so. We can use that against him."

"You can't be serious! He'll be surrounded by a guard. You won't stand a chance."

"This needs to come to an end, Minerva. People deserve peace."

"We don't need to end it today," Minerva argued. "Let's put him on the run and then go after him when we're strong."

"He will be here tonight. We have an excellent opportunity. Grindelwald has a talent for slipping through people's fingers. We should not let him do that yet again."

Minerva wanted to argue with him, to tell him that it was too dangerous and could not be done. But that wasn't true and she could not argue with him. He was right. They had a singular opportunity here and already the wheels of her mind were spinning with a way to make this work.

It was possibly, though thinly so, to win the war tonight and she had to admit that if anyone could pull this off, Albus could. It was a rare wizard who was as powerful as Albus Dumbledore. He might well have been able to outmatch even her father.

No matter what, however, she would be with him as he attempted to do what she knew he was set upon doing. If he was to die at this, he would not do so alone and if she could help him get Grindelwald (or better yet, kill him), then she would.

It was at that moment that it occurred to her exactly how in love with Albus she was. It did not matter to her what happened as long as Albus came out all right. She'd done all of this for him.

Knowing there were more important things at hand than her realization, however, she pushed it aside and began speaking to Albus of the crazed plan that might just work.


	13. Summer: Greatest Sorcerer in the World

It had taken Minerva forever to make Albus see that she was not going to be staying safely inside the castle when he emerged to fight Grindelwald. It had been a long argument of whether or not she was in his care and therefore his to protect. Shed been vehemently against the idea. She'd gotten herself this far by herself. She was well able to go out onto the battlefield.

In the end, Albus caved, though not completely. Alexander Potter had an invisibility cloak that he had put at the disposal of the force defending Hogwarts. If Minerva would agree to wear the invisibility cloak the entire time, Albus agreed to let her come with him. She did.

"Are you sure it's wise to make me wear an invisibility cloak?" she asked him, hazel eyes sparkling and employing a cheeky manner that no one had ever seen her use before. "You won't be able to keep track of me."

"Not everyone is fooled by the magic of invisibility cloaks, Minerva," Albus replied gravely.

Minerva could have sworn she felt her jaw drop to the floor. Did Albus actually mean what he seemed to be implying? It was impossible. It took a very powerful sorcerer to see through invisibility cloaks. There had not been one in at least a century and a half.

"Now put that on and come with me."

Her mind still churning over whether or not Albus would actually be able to see her under the invisibility cloak, she slipped easily under the flowing silver material, vanishing from sight. He nodded at her then began walking away down the corridors.

He lead her behind a statue and then through a corridor she had not known existed until Albus had told her about it just over an hour before. They followed it for a few minutes then came upon the door that he'd indicated would be at the end of it.

"Stay close behind me, Minerva," Albus told her with a quick glance over his shoulder.

Minerva had never seen so many spells flashing around as she did when Albus opened the wooden door at the end of the corridor. The smell of many burning things flooded her nostrils. There were people everywhere, seemingly disorganized but Minerva could pick out her formations amongst the disorder. These were her battle plans in action. It was astounding to witness.

They moved out of the castle and into the chaos. It seemed to Minerva that more of the people lying on the ground were Grindelwald's people rather than her own and a faint twinge of pride hit her. Her plans had been keeping these people alive. She could not have been more glad. The death of her father already weighed heavily on her conscience. She did not need the deaths of many more people weighing on it too. These people were, for the most part, well and alive. She could feel like she was doing some good. Despite what Albus had told her about what was going on out her, she had not been able to believe it until she'd seen it. She'd shrewdly ignored her feelings and simply gone on as she had been, doing her best to help Albus.

Sneaking around the edges of a battle like the one that happened that day was something that Minerva would never forget. It was nothing like anything she'd ever seen in the sixteen years of her life. Even the death of her father, though more traumatic to her by far, could not compare to this. The smell, the sound, the many flashes of light that all the spells whipping through the air caused . . . It was like nothing she'd ever experienced before. The dawn was alive with battle. Had it not been so terrible, it might have had a sense of beauty.

But all the flashes of green reminded of exactly what was happening before her eyes and reminded her terribly of where her father was right now. He was still lying in their pine forest, dead, because of the curse she saw flashing about the air before her.

A flash of green streaked toward the castle and the window through which three people were attacking Grindelwald's forces. Minerva's pace slowed as she watched them all duck behind the window as the curse flew through it, causing an audible explosion where it hit the walls inside the castle.

She shivered. People dead, Hogwarts damaged like it had never been before . . . Things would not be as they had been before. It would be a long time before the effects of this war would be washed away and forgotten. It was something she would never forget, that was certain.

A red stunner came scarily near to hitting her. It was only Minerva's wariness that kept her from being hit.

"Minerva, are you all right?" Albus asked and Minerva could see the worry etched on his face. She suddenly felt guilty for putting it there. Hadn't this been what her father had been avoiding when he told her to leave him?

Perhaps it was, but look at where that had gotten her father. Maybe if he'd have known that she was by his side they could have worked together to do more. Her father's death had more than convinced her that when someone went up against Grindelwald, they should not do so alone or even close to it.

She would feel better for Albus' safety, and even her own, if there were more people with them. She wished that Albus had more than just her by his side.

"I'm fine. Keep moving. We want to get to the gates far before Grindelwald does."

Albus nodded and they continued their furtive movement. Minerva was expecting Grindelwald to want to make an entrance onto the battlefield. Walking grandly through Hogwarts' front gates would certainly make an entrance and would run him no risk. There were no combatants left in Hogsmeade, and that was the only thing behind those gates. It was perfect for Grindelwald's purposes.

There was a section of forest near the gates, however, and there Minerva saw an opportunity for them to ambush Grindelwald. She was not certain it would work, though. Grindelwald would certainly have thought of that possibility and his guard would no doubt have been told to be especially wary of an attack from the forest. What they needed to do was overpower that guard quickly. It would have been far easier with more people, but the fact of the matter was that no one could be spared from the defense efforts for the castle. It was she and Albus—mostly just Albus—and she had no idea whether they had the power between them to do this. She certainly did not and Albus would have to prove himself to be a truly amazing sorcerer to pull this off.

They entered the edge of the forest and skirted quickly along the tree line towards the gates. There were few spells flying around here due to the cover of the trees and their progress was much quicker. Minerva knew they were not far from the front gates.

Albus moved ahead of her, careful to keep Minerva shielded behind him. She wished he wouldn't do that. It seemed much more practical for her to be the one in the lead. She was wearing the invisibility cloak. They couldn't see her, yet Albus would not allow her to get ahead of him. Every time she started to pass him, he maneuvered ahead of her. It seemed he really could see through invisibility cloaks.

The front gates became visible, though just barely, through the trees. She and Albus both found a tree well placed near the gates and quickly climbed them. Minerva placed herself on the highest branch that could support her light weight and began staring at Hogwarts' gates. All she and Albus could do now was wait, and so they did.

/E/E/E/E/E/

Minerva shifted her weight for what felt like the thousandth time. They been waiting for about two hours now and the sun had fully risen in the sky. It was beautiful morning. If she were one who believed in sign and forewarning then she might have taken it as a good one. It was a day that seemed like one in which nothing could go wrong.

They'd seen not hide or hair of Grindelwald and she had to admit that her patience was wearing thin. He would come, she knew he would. It was his pattern. It was just a matter of when he would come. Two hours was not actually long to wait, but it seemed that the longer she waited with Albus the more tense she became. She just wanted to get this over with. If something was to go wrong, it may as well happen quickly.

Neither she nor Albus could be certain how much later it was that Grindelwald finally appeared, but he did as they both knew that he would. He appeared right outside Hogwarts statue flanked gates with a swish of a long red cloak with nearly twenty guards around him. Minerva had no conception of how they were to get though to all of those people to Grindelwald.

They both waited quietly as Grindelwald began breaking through the locking charms on the gates, aided some by Albus who, like Minerva, wanted to get Grindelwald in the gates as soon as possible. As soon as Grindelwald was in the gates, Albus was to blast them shut so that Grindelwald could not get away. His being inside the gates was key. They could not have him apparating away. It would defeat the entire purpose of this entire maneuver.

The ancient iron gates groaned open and Grindelwald marched with a smug confidence into Hogwarts' grounds. He thought he'd won. Minerva could see it on his face. The look in his pale grey eyes as they swept over the battlefield said as much. Well, whether or not she and Albus succeeded, he was in for a nasty shock. Some Polish friends of Minerva's father were refugees in England. They'd run into a Ministry official, Tom Retram, another friend, and been told what was happening at Hogwarts. They'd contacted Minerva via floo and she'd sent Fawkes to them with plans to sneak in and ambush Grindelwald's forces. They suddenly had back-up of the best kind: Polish. The Muggles of their country were amazing and the magical people there doubly so.

Grindelwald's army would never know what hit them—but for their distinctive, though small, dragon mounts. Controlling dragons was what the Polish did best.

The gates slammed quickly shut behind Grindelwald. He whirled around behind him with a look of immense confusion of his pale face. His guards looked suddenly far more wary.

From the trees Minerva and Albus sent down as many spells as they could in quick succession. Then, they were down from the trees and sprinting in opposite directions still firing off spells as fast as they could. Minerva was pleasantly surprised to see how many of Grindelwald's guards had gone down. The surprise, in combination with this pincer movement was working better than she had hoped. They were especially confused by Minerva. People did not like fighting what they could not see.

She and Albus pushed together towards the center of the mass of wizards. They scattered outward, a group of them making sure to keep Gindelwald in the middle of them. Albus focused on the group with Grindelwald in its center. Minerva focused her attentions on the other group, trying to keep them from moving to surround Albus. That would be the death of him. She needed to keep his back protected. As long as she did, his rather remarkable shield charm seemed well able to do the rest. She'd never seen anything like that charm. Albus was truly remarkable.

Spells were flying past Minerva. If she hadn't been invisible or quite so nimble she was sure she would have been hit by something—possibly the killing curse. There were certainly enough of those flying around.

There was sound everywhere. Grindelwald's guards were yelling frantically in German, but what it was Minerva could not say. She knew no more German than 'nein' and 'ja'. They could have figured out exactly where she was now standing in the invisibility cloak, picking them quickly off and she would have no idea. She moved again. The more she moved the less likely they were to know where she was.

She caught a flash of brown of brown robes out of the corner of her eye. One of the guards from her little group was making his way towards Albus, his wand raised. She skidded to a halt just behind him and pointed her wand at him.

"_Stupefy_!"

He stood not a chance. He's been right in front of her. He fell swiftly to the ground, his wand still pointed toward Albus.

The group of wizards she's been corralling an picking off had quickly dispersed when she'd taken her attention from them to deal with the rogue. Now that they were not grouped together there seemed to be a lot more of them. It was all Minerva could do to keep them all from joining their fellows or cursing Albus as he made his way rather impressively through the second group of them toward Grindelwald.

It suddenly occurred to Minerva that it was a very real possibility that this might work.

It was less than a second later that Minerva caught sight of a man rounding upon Albus, a curse on his lips.

"_Crucio_!"

It was without a thought that Minerva used herself as a barrier between the curse and Albus. It hit her soundly in the ribs and she fell to the ground, body shaking with pain like she'd never even imagined could exist. She twitched helplessly on the ground for a few moments. The hood of the cloak fell away a few inches and Minerva McGonagall's fair face could now be glimpsed lying cheek to ground, bodiless on the ground. She knew not what to do but scream.

Albus rounded on Minerva's attacker. Through the tears that had sprung to her shocked hazel eyes, Minerva could just barely make out his form as he send a cruse hurling at her attacker. Something had changed about the great wizard. She could not see what it was through tear-blurred eyes, but she knew. She could feel it distinctly in the air, even through pain the likes of which she would always remember.

In an instant the man was down. He moved toward Minerva, placing himself protectively between her prone and limp form and the two remaining people near the gates.

The last one of Grindelwald's guards quickly fell under the spell that Albus sent his way. Now it was just Grindelwald and Albus. Minerva watched them both from where she pull herself into a sitting position on the ground.

"Wer . . . Wer bist du?" Grindelwald whimpered. His pale eyes glittered with fear. The man was a craven coward. He could be brave and incite wars and kill great wizards like Tempus McGonagall—but only when he was surrounded by his many guards. Now that he was alone, it was plain to Minerva that he was a coward.

It made her blood boil. Couldn't he be a man? Why did the man who killed someone great—far, far greater than he—like her father have to be such a miserable coward? He was just going to sit there and whimper while Albus captured him. It wasn't right.

"Albus Dumbledore."

It was a calm response. Albus could not have been calmer, but it carried with it immense power. Minerva had never seen something so awesome in her life. Albus Dumbledore must be the greatest sorcerer in the world. No one, especially not the cowering Grindelwald, could match the power that Albus radiated.

This was the change that had come over Albus when he'd rounded on Minerva's attacker. Albus, the great teacher and protector, was a powerful wizard indeed. Grindelwald could quite clearly see that, and he pelted for the closed gates, yelling charms and curses of all sorts at them, trying to get them to open for him.

They would not. Grindelwald beat on them for a moment but they would not budge. He turned on Albus.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

With a grace and speed that Minerva never would have expected from a man as old as she knew Albus must be, Albus had removed both of them from the curse's path. The grass burned where the curse had hit.

"Move into the forest, Minerva and stay there."

Knowing that next time Albus might not be able to react as quickly, and that she needed to remove herself from this place so that he could focus completely on Grindelwald, Minerva obey Albus without question.

Despite being a coward—or perhaps because he was a coward—Grindelwald proved himself to be a nuisance to defeat. He would run and curse and do everything he could to evade or kill Albus. He would do anything to get away.

Minerva had never before seen a duel like this. She would have loved to have been able to say it was an epic battle, but it was not—though the Daily Prophet would later make it out to be so. It was simply one very scared and somewhat powerful wizard trying his cowardly best to evade an even more powerful and certainly anything but cowardly wizard. In the end Albus cornered and stunned him.

The war was over. Albus had won it for them. There was great fanfare and the media made Albus out to be a shining hero.

Yet it was not they who crowned him to be the greatest sorcerer in the world. It was Minerva, the girl who'd been with him as he'd defeated the dark wizard who did that. She'd seen it. She knew it to be true, and before she could help herself, she found she'd told the papers—and the world—that very same thing.


	14. Year Seven at Hogwarts: Dance

Minerva's seventh year at Hogwarts had been much different from her sixth year. When she'd come back from the summer she'd hardly been able to escape her classmates with her friends. Everyone knew that she'd been with Albus when he defeated Grindelwald and they all wanted to hear about it first hand. She obliged people, hoping that they would then go away and leave her to enjoy some quiet time with the last of her friends—Hermes and Malcolm, who was unknown to her still hoping to win back her affections—but then people just wanted to hear the story again. They loved to hear her tell about Grindelwald the coward and how the great Albus Dumbledore had defeated him. There was no one in the world more admired than Albus Dumbledore. He had to endure far more attention than Minerva did, for he was the reason she was getting an unusual amount of attention in the first place.

It died down for Minerva. By the time her sixth year was ending and Hermes and Malcolm were leaving her for good, people had finally tired of her telling the story. Albus was still as popular as ever, however, and he continued to be, straight through Minerva's seventh year.

It was unfortunate for Minerva. She'd never gotten along particularly well with the students in her year and was not really friends with any of the younger students. She spent much of her time reading alone. When she was not doing that, she was working the Gryffindor quid ditch team the hardest they'd ever been worked. It was the only thing that was anywhere near social that she engaged in.

Albus hated to see Minerva like that. She'd been far happier with friends in her previous years. Now she just seemed lonely. Whenever he could get away from the fanfare that seemed to follow him everywhere, even in Hogwarts, he would invite her to his office for a game of chess. She seemed far happier when they were playing chess together, though he had to admit there was something incomplete about that happiness. There was something that bothered her even then, but he had no real idea what it was. He'd tried to ask once, but she'd been exceptionally evasive.

He'd never broached the question again. He'd simply done what he could to distract her from whatever it was that was bothering her. He'd yet to be successful but he certainly kept trying.

Even with Albus' best efforts however, that distant and distracted look Minerva wore remained and at times became even worse. He had many ideas left yet to try and pull such a talented student away from her problems but there was little time with which to try them. He was constantly being pelted by people and owls. Everyone wanted his attention and he could not simply ignore it as he wished to.

So even despite Albus' best efforts, Minerva spent much of her seventh year reading alone as unnoticed as she could make herself. At the best of times, she was reading letters from Dan, Hermes or Muriel. At the worst of times she was reading a book. Malcolm had not written her once since near the end of the summer. He'd finally given up on the woman in love with a much older man.

/E/E/E/E/E/

Minerva had never had much in the way of uses for dances. She'd almost not come to the dance that Headmaster was holding in honor of the school finally being fully repaired from the Grindelwald's attack two years earlier. When Albus had mentioned seeing her there with that twinkle sparkling in his crystal clear blue eyes, she'd felt compelled to nod her compliance at him and put in an appearance here.

So here she was, in scarlet dress robes, not enjoying herself at all and wishing she had a book. Amongst all the people, she'd been unable to catch sight of Albus. She was certain that was because he was somewhere deep in the center of all those people. He always was.

There was nothing enjoyable about being here. She wondered why she did not leave.

She knew quite well why she did not leave. It was Albus. She wanted to see him. She even had this vain and silly hope that she might be able to dance with him this evening.

This entire thing was silly. She would like nothing better than to be here on the arm of the greatest sorcerer in the world. The man that every other woman in the world wanted as well and who was her teacher. Her love for him was a useless, distracting thing and completely inappropriate. Yet she could not help herself. Love was just one of those things a person could not fight. So she sat quietly as a table on the sidelines, wishing that Albus was sitting next to her, whispering in her ear about how beautiful she looked.

It was a wonderful thought. It would never happen, but it was wonderful.

"Hey, Minerva," said a gangly young redhead in his fourth year.

"Hello, Richey," she replied, he hazel eyes coming to rest lazily on Dan's younger brother and her quid ditch team's Keeper.

"Why aren't you dancing, Minerva?"

Minerva smirked. Richey was very unlike Dan. He was far less boisterous, more the shy concerned sort of person. He would be worrying about her. "I haven't wanted to."

"But this is a celebration," he said with wide brown eyes.

"I know."

"There are lots of people who'd be happy to dance with you. You should dance and be happy. You've sat around all depressed and lonely all year."

"I've not been depressed."

"Oh," said Richey with what sounded like surprise. "Will you dance with me then?"

She laughed. It was one of the few times she'd laughed all year. Even in quidditch practice, or when she was playing chess with Albus, she'd rarely laughed. Richey was good at pulling laughs out of her, though. He was so unassuming and charming

"Sure."

So she took Richey's hand and began dancing with the boy.

/E/E/E/E/E/

Even as the music really started to reach its peak and it was at the time when most people should be dancing, Albus found himself still surrounded by people---most of them of the female persuasion.

He was asked often to dance, and being a polite person, he accepted. He'd already danced more times than he could count. For this dance, he'd politely declined about ten or twenty requests to dance and was sitting at the teachers' table talking idly with the Headmaster.

His eyes moved across the dance floor, watching the many people as they went by. Teachers and students alike waltzed slowly by. Albus caught the eye of the Muggle studies professor, Dagon Spike, and nodded at the young man as he danced closely with the flying instructor Persephone Rayce. How long had those two been married now? It had to be at least eight years now. Their son was nearly three.

Albus was surprised Persephone's sister, Andromeda, their rather _different_ herbology teacher dancing with one of the male teachers. It was well known among the staff members (as well as some of the students, or so Albus suspected) that their petite blonde herbology professor had no interest in men whatsoever.

That was not nearly so odd of a sight, however, as that of a tall brunette girl dancing with a boy who was a little shorter than she and had red hair that clashed with her scarlet dress robes.

_My god was that . . . ?_

Albus went silent, staring at the Head Girl as she danced with the young Richard Weasley. Armando kept talking to him, and he knew that he was, but he had no idea what the man was saying, nor did he care. He could not take his eyes, or mind, off of Minerva, though he did not know why.

"Albus?"

Someone was saying something to him, but Minerva was dancing happily with that boy nearly right in front of the table. She had a smile on her face the likes of which he had not seen on her in just months. He'd forgotten how becoming she was when she smiled. It had become such a rarity.

"Albus!"

Albus turned his head towards Armando. He'd suddenly noticed that the headmaster had been trying to get his attention. "Yes, Armando?"

"My God, boy, where has that mind of yours been? I've been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes!"

"Forgive me, Armando, I was distracted . . ."

The frail old Headmaster waved a thin hand. "You were probably inventing some new use for dragon's blood. You are something else, Dumbledore. I couldn't ask for a more brilliant Deputy."

Albus nodded, but his eyes had again taken focus on Minerva. He continued his conversation with Armando, but his eyes never left her graceful form.

The song ended and Albus excused himself from Armando's company. Minerva had just sat back down at her table

"Good evening, Minerva," he said with a smile.

"Hello, Professor," she replied and smiled back. She always insisted on calling him Professor when they were not alone. He suddenly wondered why.

"Would you, um . . ."

Why was he suddenly tongue tied. How silly. At least Minerva was laughing pleasantly.

He cleared his throat. "Dance with me, my dear."

She raised an eyebrow at him. He took that as an acceptance of his offer. He took her hand and lead her onto the dance floor.

He'd not enjoyed any of his dances that night nearly so much as he enjoyed this one with Minerva. She was quite an excellent dancer.

"Where did you learn to dance like this?"

"I used to dance with my father."

Suddenly he felt like a clod. He knew Minerva still felt grief at the death of her father. It was something that would stay with her for a long while yet.

He steered the conversation elsewhere, making her laugh as much as he could. He'd not see her so relaxed and happy in a very long time. Even when she was dancing with Mr. Weasley she had not been smiling the way she was now. She was positively shining.

The dance ended too soon for Albus' taste and he was swept away by another student, another dance partner. Minerva went and sat down again. He danced with the other girl, one of Ravenclaw Prefects, but his eyes did not leave Minerva. Nor did hers leave him.

There did not come an opportunity for them to speak again that evening, and by the time spoke again it was nearly a week later as they played chess. Things had returned to normal and it was as though the dance had never happened at all.


	15. As an Auror: Levings

Author's Notes:

Forgive me my laxness. Hopefully the fact that this chapter has some length to it will make up for the fact that it has taken me a while to write it and get it posted.

Oh, and as a side note here, let me say that reviews are much welcomed and appreciated. I've been most gratified to see the number of reviews this piece has received. Thank you all.

And so, without further ado, let us step into the adult life of Minerva McGonagall and see where it leads us. I hope you enjoy.

/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/

Minerva had not spoken face to face with Albus in nearly twelve years. They'd exchanged a number of owls, but had not actually exchanged spoken words since she had graduated from Hogwarts. It was not surprising really. He was both brilliant and famous, so he was nearly always occupied with something, and Minerva, as an auror, always had things to do as well.

At first they'd managed to exchange owls nearly every week, but over the years it had dwindled to once every two or three months. It was too bad, really, they'd been quite close when Minerva was a student, but really she felt it was a good thing.

The separation from her beloved mentor had finally allowed her to leave her love for him behind. She'd moved on. She even had a steady boyfriend—her fellow auror, Alastor Moody. She was even thinking she might marry Alastor at some point. This was highly up in the air, of course. She did not love the man as of yet, but she did admire him greatly. He was the greatest auror she'd ever met. It made him a bit paranoid and annoying at times but they were otherwise well met despite the forty years of difference in their age.

Minerva sighed. There was a letter from her mother sitting on her desk. It was no doubt berating her about Alastor. Minerva's mother did not approve of such age differences. Minerva had no idea why. Her father had been far older than her mother, and by all accounts the woman had initially been a very pretty trophy wife for him. It had only grown into something more later—perhaps even as late as after Jove had been born.

Minerva placed the letter aside. She was not looking forward to reading it, but she would eventually. These letters about Alastor were never nearly as bad as the reaction her mother had had when she'd found out about Minerva flying to Hogwarts. She'd immediately figured out what had driven her daughter to do such a thing. Unfortunately for Minerva, June McGonagall was very perceptive person. She'd quickly figured out that her daughter was in love with her professor. Minerva still distinctly remembered her mother yelling at her about it. She'd not cried as hard as she had that night in the fourteen years since.

Favoring something that would hopefully be more pleasant to her eyes than the reprimands of her mother, Minerva picked up the Daily Prophet and turned to the sports section. Immediately after scanning the results of yesterday's quidditch matches, she set the paper down with an air of satisfaction. The Montrose Magpies, her quidditch team, looked to be on their way to winning the league championship. They'd flattened Puddlemore United in their match the day before.

Having finished reading up on the quidditch standings and the most important section of the paper, she ignored it in favor of going through the rest of her mail. She'd received the books she'd ordered from Flourish and Blotts, _The Most Popular Curses and Hexes of Our Century—What to Guard Against_. Excellent. Alastor had recommended it to her as being astonishingly accurate and possessing many practical applications for their work.

The book was placed carefully on top of the letter from her mother, so that she could flip through it before tackling that most harrowing of challenges.

There was a letter here from Dan, hopefully it would be containing news of how his wife Rose was fairing in her pregnancy. The two were expecting their first child in a matter of months. She pulled the parchment out of its envelope and read it quickly. Dan and Rose were fine. Rose was being rather moody because of the pregnancy, but Dan seemed to be handling it with his usual long-suffering good humor.

There were other letters from various friends, some of which Minerva resolved to go through later and other which she read immediately upon sight. The one that she'd received from Albus was amongst those in the latter category.

She grinned evilly upon seeing the letter. In her reply she had every intention of mentioning how the Magpies had crushed Albus' quidditch team yesterday. He was sure to be writhing with agony over the simple idea that this year once again Puddlemore United would not be the winner of the league championship. It was Minerva's privilege and self-appointed duty to remind him of this fact whenever she wrote him. They were not really a bad quidditch team, but the fact was that the Magpies were without a doubt the best in her league. This gave her immense satisfaction.

She tore open the letter, eager to read it and respond. Corresponding with Albus was an activity she enjoyed immensely, despite or perhaps because of its rarity.

_Dear Minerva,_

_Forgive me for having not written you for so long. Unfortunately between my duties here at Hogwarts and the constant vying for my attention made by people under the mistaken impression that I am possessed of some magnificent wisdom, I have little time for even the most beloved of former students—as you have certainly noticed._

_I am sorry to say that I am not writing you for social reasons. Indeed, I am writing you because I think that you would be of great help to myself in an upcoming endeavor._

_Early last week I received a letter from the Ministry of Magic requesting my help with the capture of a rogue witch by the name of Miranda Levings. Apparently she's been engaging in Muggle torturing and murders all over London and the Ministry is becoming hard-pressed to explain these away. Given my history with Grindelwald they have asked me to being working with your young man Alastor on the case. I sill remember quite well your help with Grindelwald, so I have put in a request for you to join us as well. The Ministry has granted my request. Now it is up to you to accept or decline._

_Keeping in mind that you love challenges, I have made the (hopefully correct) assumption that you will be joining Mr. Moody and myself. We will be meeting at the Leaky Cauldron to begin making plans at nine o'clock sharp tomorrow morning. I shall see you there._

_Sincerely, _

_Albus Dumbledore_

Minerva reread the letter twice, then began to pack. A familiar excitement was budding inside her. She quickly squashed it. She had long outgrown that crush.

/E/E/E/E/E/

She was at the Leaky Cauldron five minutes early, as was her habit when she was meeting people. Alastor was leaning calmly against the wall near the bar's entrance carefully watching all the passers by. The man trusted no one. She walked calmly towards him, the hem of her black Muggle dress swishing about her ankles.

"Hello, Alastor."

"Are you aware of how many people are staring at you?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"You're paranoid, Alastor," she told him, as she dropped a kiss on his cheek.

Alastor smoothed back his rich brown hair. "It's not paranoia. I don't think that everyone is out to get me, I simple know that everyone is capable and that dark witches and wizards could be anywhere. Besides, paranoia is only when you're wrong. I'm never wrong."

"Yes, you are, Alastor."

He stiffened against the wall and stared fixedly at her with large chocolate brown eyes. She'd never seen him take his eyes away from their constant scan of the crowds before. "When have I ever been wrong?"

"That man at the Muggle Opera was not a dark wizard."

He snorted and relaxed again, taking her arm and leading her into the Leaky Cauldron. He was again watching everything and everyone carefully. "I wasn't wrong about that."

"He was an ordinary Muggle!"

"He may not have been a dark wizard but he was dangerous. He was carrying one of those exploding Muggle wands."

"You mean a gun?"

"Yeah, one of those."

She watched his eyes moving about the Leaky Cauldron, scanning its over its few patrons. "Fine, Alastor, you were right then."

"Exactly," he said with a lopsided smile that made the thin scar running along his left cheek more pronounced. "Constant vigilance, my dear woman, constant vigilance. Always pays off."

She sighed as they sat themselves at a table. Alastor was seated with his back to the wall, able to see all entrances to the bar. "Alastor, constant vigilance is just your way of saying that you trust no one."

Alastor could feel an old argument coming on, and was very happy to see Albus enter the bar. "Good morning, Albus."

The words that had been about to leave Minerva's lips fell away as Albus took a seat. She'd forgotten how handsome Albus really was. The image of him in her mind had faded over the years as she'd forced herself to tuck it away into the deepest corners of her mind. Even if she would have been one to do something as unbecoming as start an argument with Alastor as they met someone, she would never have remembered to after encountering her very first love for the first time in twelve years.

It took her a few seconds to find her voice. It wasn't everyday that an encounter such as this one occurred and she found herself a bit flustered by the flow of emotions it evoked. From the point where she found her voice, however, she was perfectly calm and pleasant in behavior. Indeed but for that first slight falter her behavior remained completely unmarked by the sudden flutter she felt in her stomach. She was far past the point in her life where a quiet love for him had overwhelmed her senses.

"Hello, Albus," she said with the slightest smile tugging at her lips. "You look well."

"And you, Minerva," Albus replied with the gentle smile that was so very characteristic of him. Indeed, he meant what he said. The years had been kind to his star pupil as one would expect them to be. At thirty years of age, she was still a very young witch. She seemed far older to him, however, than he remembered her being. Perhaps it was the tight bun she was now wearing, or the subtle signs of increased maturity he saw in her bearing, but she no longer seemed like a child to him. Throughout the entirety of her schooling, with the exception a few brief occasions, he had never quite been able to think of her as an adult—despite the fact that she had been an adult since almost the very beginning of her sixth year. Now, however, he definitely saw a woman, not a child.

For the slightest moment the smile that had been tugging at Minerva's lips emerged, but no more than a second later, it was gone. Albus returned Alastor's greeting as well and the three of them sat down at the table to get down to business. There was a Muggle killer on the loose and the Ministry's usual tactics were not working. That was why Albus was here now. He did not normally get involved in this sort of thing, but the Ministry had been begging him for his help for the past month. Hogwarts' summer vacation had started a week before and now that his true occupation had freed him for the next two months, he had caved to the Ministry's requests.

It was Minerva who spoke first, drawing the group quickly and efficiently to task, as she was apt to do.

"I must admit I don't know much about this case. The only information I have is what Albus wrote in his letter."

"You read the Muggle newspapers, don't you, Minerva?" Albus asked.

"She does," Alastor confirmed before Minerva had a chance to answer. "Every day."

Albus nodded and Minerva shot Alastor a dirty look. She was perfectly capable of answering questions herself. Alastor, catching her look, simply sighed inwardly and continued his surveillance of the bar's entrances.

"Well, since you read the Muggle papers, you are undoubtably familiar with Ms. Levings' misdeeds. She has been capturing, torturing and, as of late, murdering Muggles she captures off the street for the past ten weeks. She's had seven victims in total."

Minerva nodded. "The papers have reported that there are no leads and that the three victims left alive remember nothing. Our side's work, I assume?"

"Right," Alastor confirmed. "We questioned the three live ones then erased their memories of everything and sent them back home."

"Did we get anything."

"Two of them managed to identify Miss Levings. The other, the last one that got away before she could kill him, was blind-folded. He didn't see anything and he wandered for at least two or three blocks before we found him. One of the other identified where she'd been taken as some sort of seedy Muggle inn, though, so we've got a couple ideas of where she held him."

Again, Minerva nodded. "It makes sense that she would take him to a place like that. She seems to prefer her victims be, shall we say low-class."

"Quite correct," Albus said. "Though I'm uncertain why. We believe, however, that she has been engaging in Muggle tortures for years. It is even thought that she may have done so to uncooperative Muggle for Grindelwald, though this is unconfirmed."

Minerva snorted. She could believe that. Grindelwald had not been the type of man who had the gumption to do that sort of awful work himself.

Albus eyed Minerva carefully, having heard her quiet snort upon his announcement that Levings might have worked for Grindelwald. As was to be expected, she held no love for Grindelwald or his followers. He knew that she would be quite happy when Grindelwald finally died, locked up in his cell in Azkaban. He also knew that she was suddenly, though quietly, very keen on the idea of making Levings join him.

"Plan for getting her is simple," Alastor stated. "One of us is going to employ standard auror tactics of covert tracking. Hopefully, that person, I volunteer myself, will find her before any more Muggles depart from this earth. The other two, will be posing as the type of Muggles she generally goes after, trying to lure her into capturing one of them."

"I don't think it's a good idea that I be one of the two posing as a Muggle," Albus voiced. "As immodest as this sounds, I'm fairly recognizable." He was sorry that was true. He would have liked to have been able to work closely with Minerva on this. She had proved herself many years before to be an excellent complement to his own work style and he would have liked to have spent some time with her catching up. A few sparse letters over twelve years did not foster continuing close relations.

"You're ideal for it," Alastor shot back. "Greatest sorcerer in the world would be hard pressed to be taken out by somebody like Levings. She's sneaky but hardly very powerful. That's probably why she's stuck strictly to Muggles."

"Besides, otherwise you'd be doing the auror work. Alastor is most certainly the best man for that job. The Ministry's never had a better auror."

"Damn right," agreed Alastor.

"You can use a Glamour Charm," Minerva told Albus. "She'll have no idea who you are."

Quite pleased with the turn of events, and wondering why he had not thought of something so simple himself, Albus nodded at Minerva.

"We'll coordinate together as much as possible," Alastor continued. "I'll try and maintain a constant correspondence with the two of you, keep you updating. May not always be possible though. You two stay together. She's got enough sneak to her that she might be able to incapacitate one of you, but the two of you should be fine."

Minerva turned her hazel gaze on her lover. "What about you, Alastor?"

"Constant vigilance. Now let's get started. She's bound to be contemplating her next victim by now."


	16. As an Auror: Undercover

Albus' natural flamboyance had made it easy for him to find a low-class Muggle to imitate. When he and Minerva had begun to sort through the supply of Muggle clothes that the Ministry kept on hand for their interactions with Muggles he'd quickly been drawn to a purple coat and hat lined with purple fur. Minerva had managed to procure him a cane, and with the addition of a pair of slacks and a shimmering golden shirt, he looked very much like what the Muggles called a pimp.

Minerva had been far more of a challenge. Unfortunately for her, lower-class Muggle women had a tendency to dress in a manner that was so revealing it tended to be vulgar. Minerva was rather modest about her appearance and was not only too prudish to be comfortable with the idea of wearing much less than a full set of robes but did not have a high enough opinion of her own attractiveness to feel as though she could pull such clothing off to any degree. She'd spent her entire life around her sister and mother, both of whom were very pretty and dressed very well. Minerva had not been able to help but notice that both received a lot of male attention. She had never noticed the same for herself. She'd never noticed how much she looked like her mother (though people often told her so), nor that some men, especially the ones that found themselves spellbound by the utterly unique Minerva McGonagall, were more interested in a woman whose intelligence made itself even more obvious than her beauty.

Albus watched her out of the corner of his eye as she smoothed the fabric of her tight fitting clothing and dabbed at her make-up. It was a shame, in his opinion, to see someone so pretty in that much make-up. It was necessary for their masquerade, but she was made-up to the point that it was almost clownish and it detracted from her beauty.

"I think we are as ready as we will ever be," he said from behind her.

She turned and looked at him. "I wish this weren't necessary."

"I don't think it's so bad," he told her, adjusting the large plum colored feather protruding from the brim of his hat.

"You're wearing more than I am," she replied. "I don't enjoy looking like a . . . a prostitute. I can just imagine what my mother would say if she saw me in this . . . And I can't say I would disagree with her, for once. It's degrading."

Albus' face, changed some by the glamour charm, which had straightened his crooked nose, deprived him of his beard and changed other minor feature enough to make him recognizable only to those who looked carefully, softened. He approached Minerva quietly and placed his hand on her shoulder, much the way he had on occasion back when she was his student. There was something different about this gesture, however, and Albus was suddenly again reminded of the slight but monumental changes in Minerva over the past few years. Even without the bun and through the heavy make-up and clothing he could see it quite distinctly. In an odd sort of way, it was hard to connect this woman with the girl he had taught since she was eleven years old.

"You don't have to do this, you know. I asked you here as a favor. Neither Alastor nor I wants you doing something you don't feel completely comfortable doing."

Minerva's eyes bored hard into his, exasperation and a hard unyielding determination etched into their depths. He'd never seen her look so stern—and she had been an unusually serious student. "I came here because there is a job to do and more than one person seems to think that I would be of use. If I had found that I can do nothing constructive, then I would have already left. However, Alastor seems to think that it would be better if you had someone to guard your back and vise versa. I agree. Moreover, I've already stated my intent to help you. I will not be going anywhere until we have finished with Levings—no matter how much I detest my wardrobe. Now, I think we'd best get started."

"Of course," he agreed with a gentle smile, removing his hand from her shoulder. It seemed oddly sweaty. He concluded that this was likely because he was wearing a fur trimmed jacket in the middle of a rather warm Ministry storage area. It would stop when he got outside and was out from underneath a metal roof.

They emerged suddenly from the side of a large trash bin onto a Muggle street. The Muggles walked by casually, occasionally stopping places for whatever reason, never noticing the peculiar pair of people that had just suddenly appeared in an alley.

"Where to?" asked Minerva.

"The part of town where these attacks have been taking place for the most part is not far from here. I suggest we start there."

"Logical," Minerva agreed.

"Let's be off then," he said, and ever the gentleman, he offered her his arm.

Minerva considered the limb for a moment. She was uncertain how a pimp and his—God, how had she ever sunken this low?—whore would walk together. She knew a fair amount about Muggle culture but she was by no means an expert. Such little nuances were things that escaped her.

Another moment passed. On the one hand it seemed to formal a gesture for two such pieces of filth to engage in. After all, she knew this to be Albus' Victorian era manners to be rearing their head. Yet the fact that it was so formal made it seem almost plausible that two people like the ones they were pretending to be would engage in it. Stealing gestures like this seemed in character. After all, she doubted that actual pimps and prostitutes viewed themselves the way she viewed them.

With a slight bit of hesitation, she took his arm and they were off. She was quite pleased to note that her reaction to his touch, once a shiver that was so powerful he had at times questioned whether or not she was warm enough, was barely a tingle. A decade did wonders for one's reaction to such things. It was good to see how one could make an unrequited love fade with the right amount of distance. It was something she did not want t find herself tangled in again.

It did not take long for either Minerva or Albus to notice the disapproving stares that followed them. Albus felt Minerva grip on his arm tighten as she watched them back and he knew she was uncomfortable. He would have liked to have reassured her—taken her hand in a comforting gesture or some such but he knew doing that would be a mistake. He was supposed to be her pimp after all, not her friend.

_Not her old Professor_, he added silently to himself, and he wondered why that thought made him uncomfortable.

A man walked by, his child's hand in his own, and Albus could not help but notice how he stared at Minerva. It was as though she were meat on a rack. He found himself extremely tempted to bark at the man, to tell him off for staring a woman who had far better things to offer a man than the base things he was thinking of. The child, his large blue eyes looking around him with the wonder so characteristic and endearing of a child, stopped him from speaking.

"I wish they would stop staring," Minerva told him quietly.

"Just ignore them," he responded, and the thought occurred to him that he should be doing the same thing.

"I can't," she whispered, as her eyes followed and elderly woman with a cane. "Whenever I try that all of the sudden I hear Alastor's voice in my head telling me I should be constantly vigilant."

Albus nodded nearly imperceptibly. Alastor Moody was a bit paranoid, but not without good reason. In his line of work, people needed to watch their backs, lest they find it being hit by a curse. He and Minerva could not afford to simply ignore people. It might endanger their safety, and Albus would never forgive himself if something were to happen to Minerva. He'd asked her here as a favor, after all. He didn't want to be responsible for her getting hurt. He would never forgive himself.

There was another man staring at Minerva now. This one had no child yet wore a look identical to the one before him. Albus could not help himself.

"Stare for too long and I'll charge for that too," he barked at the man.

Shocked, the other man slunk quickly away, trying to avoid the gazes of other pedestrians.

Minerva was quite glad that she was wearing as much blush as she was. Fiery color had risen to her cheeks in embarrassment. She knew Albus had done that because she was uncomfortable with all of this, but the fact was that his method of execution—one that had been perfectly in character for what he was pretending to be—had made her even more uncomfortable. She would loved to have been able to forget what she was wearing and doing here, but everything about the situation made it impossible to forget.

As they continued to walk, the neighborhood around them began to become drastically different. It was less well taken care of, and the people did not stare as much. They were used to people like Albus and Minerva moving about.

Minerva found it strange how much more comfortable she was here, in this dirty, stinking mess of a neighborhood than she had been in the one they had passed through earlier. It was an odd sort of irony.

"Well, we've found where we're looking for," Albus noted as his sparkling blue eyes roved around the scenery. Minerva was careful to avoid staring too hard at them. She was still quite attracted to Albus, and she did not want her life repeating itself. The incident with Malcolm might have been years ago, but it was not pleasant to think about. She was far too fond of Alastor, and saw too much of a possibility for a relationship that was deep and meaningful, to want something like that to occur again. She was forewarned this time and that would save her, she knew.

"Indeed," Minerva agreed.

"The question is, where do we wish to station ourselves around here?"

"The Red Light District, of course."

Albus turned to stare at Minerva. He'd not been expecting that answer.

"I thought you were uncomfortable with your, er, undercover position."

Minerva let out a very short, very nervous laugh. "I am. I just want to do this right. We're dressed like these Muggles, we should act like them too."

Albus gazed worriedly at her. "Men will undoubtably be interested in your 'services,' my dear. What do you intend to do about that?"

A small smile appeared on Minerva's face. It was a look Albus knew well. It meant she was thinking something. "I'll just go with them."

Albus could hardly believe his ears. Had she just said what he thought she said? He felt his blood begin to burn at the idea. The idea . . . it wasn't right! He shook the feeling off. He knew Minerva better than this. There was more to this idea.

"And?"

"Memory Charm."

"Ah." Of course, it was the simplest solution. He wondered why he had not thought of it himself.

_Probably because I prefer to make things more complex than they need to be_, he thought with an inward chuckle. _I do like a good puzzle_.

And so they continued walking, looking for the Red Light District. It was not, unsurprisingly, overly hard to find.


	17. As an Auror: Revelation

"Well, aren't you the prettiest little whore ever? Hey, you there! How much for a go with this 'un, mate?"

Minerva was quite unused to hearing such things about herself, but here she was hearing them constantly and amazingly enough, they were true. She'd never thought herself to be the prettiest woman within so much as twenty feet but right now she was the prettiest woman in about three blocks. She had all of her teeth, a straight nose, eyes that were neither bloodshot nor puffy . . . It was an odd feeling. She was getting used to it however.

Albus glanced over at Minerva, pretending to try and figure out how much she was worth. After a second, he quoted the man a price that, from speaking to a number of prostitutes on this block, he and Minerva had gathered was at least reasonable.

"All right then!"

Albus found a small number of pounds being stuffed into his hand. With an effort, her turned away from Minerva, whom he worried about constantly every time she got into one of those men's cars. He knew she had her wand, and worry was for the most part irrational, but he found he could not help himself. It was probably the teacher in him popping up. It had been his job to protect her as a student, after all, and he had always done so with the best of his abilities. Just letting her do something that seemed as though it were potentially dangerous did not seem right to him.

Another car drove up, and another man asked Albus about a different girl. With some guilt, Albus quoted the man a price and the girl got into his car. When they'd first gotten to the block, in an effort to better their cover, he and Minerva had instituted a number of memory charms to make him the pimp for another five girls. He had to admit, he did not like the situation. In his opinion these girls were being horribly taken advantage of through their "jobs." He and Minerva, being good people, had promised themselves that while they were here they would do their best to help these girls that they were using. They'd get them real places to live and actual jobs—as well as the majority of what they made by selling themselves. It was the best either of them could think to do for these girls. Albus still felt somewhat guilty about the situation, however.

Albus glanced constantly at the corner where the car with Minerva had turned until he saw her back safely on their corner.

He approached her quickly. "Everything went smoothly?"

"Quite," she answered him. "He thinks he had the time of his life, at a very reasonable price."

Imagery of what 'the time of his life' probably meant, filled Albus's head. He felt a familiar heat rise within him. It was an irrational feeling though, after all nothing had actually happened at all. It was all from a Memory Charm. He pushed the thoughts and images away. He could not continue like this through the entirety of their work here. They did have a job to get done.

/E/E/E/E/E/

"Shall you transfigure yourself a bed, or shall I?"

"I will. Any bed you'd transfigure would be rock-like."

Minerva fixed Albus with a hard stare.

Albus chuckled. "Go change, Minerva. We both know how much you want to get into some real clothes."

"Thank you," she said with a nod, and Albus could not tell whether or not she was mad about the 'rock-like' comment. "I'll be in the bathroom if you need me."

She grabbed a bag and walked toward the bathroom. Albus watched her as she went, thinking thoughts he quickly realized he definitely should _not_ be thinking.

He turned away from the doorway he'd watched her disappear through, quite embarrassed with himself and more than a little guilty. It suddenly dawned on him exactly why it was that he'd been feeling and acting so oddly ever since he'd met with Minerva and Alastor at the Leaky Cauldron. He was _attracted_ to Minerva.

He transfigured himself a bed with a feathery mattress from a broken lamp on a nearby nightstand and sat down on it. This wasn't right. Minerva was little less than 80 years younger than he. She'd been his prize student. He'd known her since she was 11 years old and under his care. How could he be attracted to her?

The bathroom door opened and Minerva walked out in a night dress and tartan robe. Her hair, worn down in a long black sheet down her back while she been 'working' her corner, was now tied securely in a braid running along the side of her long neck and down her front and her face had been washed completely clean of the garish make-up she'd been covered with. Albus sucked in a quiet breath and kept his face carefully composed, hoping Minerva would not see on his face the swirl of emotions he was feeling. While it had not been unpleasant to look at Minerva (or rather her very well-defined figure) while she'd been wearing the practically non-existent, figure-hugging clothes of a Muggle prostitute, he much preferred her this way. She did not look at all like Minerva without her square glasses (acquired in her fourth year and still remaining unchanged, even now) and with her face painted up like something akin to clown or jester. Now, however, she looked very much like herself, and he could have kissed her right then. It was something of an effort for him to remain seated where he was and not do so.

"I'm finished if you want to change. I'll warn you, though, don't touch anything. That bathroom is the most unsanitary place I've ever had the misfortune of being."

Albus nodded and Minerva began moving toward the main bed in the room, surveying it uncertainly. Albus grabbed the bag containing his own nightclothes and started to the bathroom. Midway there, he passed within an inch or two of Minerva and he felt the sudden urge to kiss her right there and then come over him yet again.

He quickened his pace slightly, wanting to get himself as far from Minerva as possible but not wanting to draw her attention to the fact that he was doing so. Reaching the bathroom, he closed the door as fast as he dared. Vaguely, he noted that Minerva had not been exaggerating about the lack of cleanliness in the bathroom and with a wave of his wand, he cleaned it. He sat down on the toilet and took a few deep breaths, clearing his mind of any thoughts he had of his companion, and former student, in the other room. He was a grown man after all. He was quite capable of controlling his thoughts and emotions. He'd had many infatuations before this one and he'd ignored many of them. Ignoring this one was certainly no different.

He changed into a long, white dressing gown and lavender robe with moving and twinkling stars embroidered onto it, then quickly exited the bathroom.

He easily spotted Minerva curled up on the room's main bed and noted with no small amount of amusement that the bed had been transfigured into a newer, and presumably far cleaner, one. Doubtlessly she'd felt compelled to do so after seeing the state of the bathroom. Minerva had a tendency to be a tad obsessive compulsive on her own, and he was certain that she never would have touched the original bed, knowing how filthy it probably had been.

He settled calmly into his own bed, and did his best to try and sleep but the realization of his attraction to Minerva, however undesired, seemed to have lit a fire under it. It seemed to be on something of an overdrive. He found the fact that she was drifting peacefully off to sleep not even ten feet away from his to be very distracting.

He heard Minerva sigh in her sleep and, surprised at hearing such a sound come from her, turned his head to look at her.

He hadn't realized that nightgown had such a generous neckline.

Pushing any and all thoughts of his companion resolutely from his mind, Albus managed to coax himself to sleep over the next hour and a half.

This was going to be a very long and interesting endeavor.


	18. As an Auror: Conversation

Albus sprang from his slumber quite suddenly, covered in sweat. He'd been dreaming about Minerva again. He'd been doing so with a fair amount of frequency for the past week that they'd been undercover.

Albus shook his head. Nights—or days, as they were, since he and Minerva, to better fit with their cover, 'worked' nights—were the worst. During their waking, working hours Minerva was not Minerva. She was someone completely different and he found it easy to ignore his slight infatuation with her. During the daylight sleeping hours, however, she transformed back into herself and he found it hard not to think of her—and utterly impossible not to dream of her.

That was not when it was at its worst, however. When it was at its worst was when they would talk with one another before retiring or in the morning after getting up and checking for letters from Alastor. Albus was utterly fascinated by everything about her—especially her wit, which was at its height when they spoke, and while it was nice to know that he was infatuated with her rather than her attractive form. It was also terribly annoying. He could not so much as talk with this ex-student without finding himself becoming even more entranced by her.

He knew he could end the growth of this absurd infatuation, or at least pause it, by not talking with her. He could not bring himself to do so, however. They'd only spoken in letters over the past few years and the chance to really talk with one another again was welcome. He'd missed it and he could tell that she'd missed it too. He could see it in her eyes, along with something else—a look he was certain he sometimes wore. He could not be certain, however, and the look was fleeting, likely with good reason. She was, he was well aware, attached.

"Albus?"

He turned to the other bed and saw Minerva sitting up in it, staring at him with sleepy eyes. Perhaps unconsciously aware of her sudden exposure, she tugged at her sheet, pulling it up around her.

"What are you doing awake?"

"Dream," he responded simply. "And yourself?"

"I heard you wake up."

"Amazing."

"What?" she asked.

"I'm surprised that something like that would wake anyone. It seems it should go unnoticed."

"I've always been a light sleeper. It's not hard to wake me."

"That must be useful in your line of work," Albus noted.

"That's what Alastor always says," she responded, looking disgusted.

"Why the look?"

"What look?"

Albus pinned her with the stare that had always made her feel as though he was reading her mind. "The one you're wearing right, now. It seems to resemble disgust, if I'm not entirely mistaken." Minerva had always been one to try and cover up such displays of emotion, especially when they lead to a deeper issue.

Minerva sighed. "Alastor has a tendency to view everything as a safety precaution or tactical advantage. It . . . strains our relationship."

"He has good reason to be paranoid, Minerva."

The look of disgust returned, and Albus noted that her eyes were beginning to take a greener shade. Her Scottish temper was beginning to flair. It was best to step lightly. No one cared to be on the receiving end of that.

"I know very well that Alastor had good reason to be paranoid. I've _seen_ the things that they've done to him . . . you'd be amazed at the amount of scars a 60 year old man can get just by being an auror."

"I've not noticed _that_ many scars."

"Well, yes," said Minerva with a blush lighting her cheeks. "He's always wearing long sleeves and that huge coat of his . . ."

It did not take a genius to figure out why Minerva was blushing like that and Albus most certainly did not want to push her to say any more. He did want to think about Minerva engaging in that sort of activity with another man. He felt very jealous of Alastor right at that moment.

"Ah," he said, the emotions flowing through him undetectable on his face. "You were saying then?"

"Um, yes," said Minerva, and it was the closest to stuttering Albus could ever remember hearing her come. "Well, every other phrase out of his mouth either is or is something akin to 'constant vigilance.'"

"I fail to see why that would bother you as much as it seems to. It might wear on one's nerves a bit but nothing as . . . powerful as your reaction would indicate."

"My reaction was not 'powerful.'"

"It most certainly was," Albus countered. "You're avoiding the issue."

"Fine," said Minerva, exasperated by his absurdly annoying ability to see straight through her. "He's too damn cautious. He trusts nothing but his own senses."

"And no one," Albus supplied.

"Exactly," said Minerva, grudgingly. Albus was far too perceptive for her tastes. He was certainly far more perceptive than she was, and she thought that he might very well be the most perceptive individual she'd ever known. He had a knack for perceiving things she did not want him to know. She'd often, as a student, felt as though he could see right through her or read her mind. It had made her fear that he would, at some point, perceive her unspoken, romantic love for him. Luckily for her, he'd never been able to think of her as anything other than a child. IT had been terribly annoying at times, but it had served its purpose.

As much as she was very much a grown woman now, she had a small hope that he would still think of her as he had thought of her then: as a child. If he still thought of her that way then she knew she would be safe from the possibility of him noticing the lingering effects of her old love for him, a still very potent attraction. She'd done a very good job covering it, and ignoring it, in her own opinion. She was not struggling with it the way she had a teenager, and she suspected that was due in no small part to her increased control over herself as an adult and the decrease in the powerful hormones teenagers were subject to.

That and she'd only spent a week with him so far. While she'd been in school there had been years for her romantic feelings to be fostered and grown. After only having known him for a week in school, she'd not felt the way she did now about him at all—but that was to be expected, Minerva knew. She'd been not quite twelve when she'd first met Albus. She'd been a preteen. Of course she hadn't had feeling like this for Albus. After all, she'd been fourteen and in her third year before she'd developed feelings for Albus. That was a far more mature age. One could reasonably expect such crushes from teen girls, but not twelve year olds.

So there it was. She was resisting him better now than she had while she was in school.

"You think he doesn't trust you."

Minerva's thoughts were pulled quickly back to Alastor. "Well, with the way he goes on about his 'constant vigilance' and with the way he acts . . . It certainly feels like he doesn't."

"I'm sure he trusts you, Minerva. He probably only mentions such things because he deems your safety important."

Minerva made a noncommital sound and took a quick glance at the clock. It was about noon.

"I can see you don't agree with my assessment."

She locked eyes with him. "Don't get me wrong here, Albus. I trust your opinion. More often than not I think you're right, but you and Alastor are very different people. You trust everyone, Albus. As you've probably noticed, Alastor really does not."

Something in Albus was screaming him to stop right now, to not try and make everything with Minerva and her lover all right. If they broke up, then the way would be clear for him . . . But that was not the right thing to do. He could not break up what appeared to be a basically fine young couple for his own benefit. Moreover, despite the fac that both were adults, he was not entirely comfortable with his interest in Minerva anyway.

He spent the next half hour talking with Minerva about her relationship with Alastor, and then her relationships in general. Looking at her past lovers, Albus had to admit he saw a pattern. Minerva seemed to generally like intelligent men a fair amount older than herself and a certain amount of . . . greatness, as it were, to them. Alastor was the best auror the Ministry had had in years. The current Minister of Magic numbered among her ex-lovers and the boy he remembered to be her first boyfriend, Malcolm Kincaid, was becoming a very influential member of the Wizengamot.

"When did you date Adam Harper?"

Minerva thought for a moment. "From mid-June to early August, right before he became head of the Department of Experimental Charms. It wasn't a very long relationship, obviously."

"It seems that many of your relationships are brief."

"I'm picky," Minerva told him, fixing him with a brief look he could not help but think was meaningful. Like many such looks that might indicate she had an interest in him, however, it was gone within the second. Albus had to wonder if he only imagined them. "I'm not an easy person to woe. I have high standards to live up to and I don't tend to allow myself to get emotionally attached before I find that those standards are met."

"Have any met actually met these standards?"

"A few," she said. "Alastor, of course, and I've fallen in love before as well."

"Do tell," said Albus, his interest piqued. The idea of Minerva in love was an attractive one, and unlike his embarrassing jealousy where Alastor was concerned, her felt unthreatened and quite curious about her past love.

"Hex Goddard. He was . . . very bright. Exceptionally so, actually. He worked under Adam Harper, actually and he was kind of a rising star in the department. The really fascinating thing about him, though, was how . . . free, he was. You'd expect someone like him to be more business like but he could really cut loose. Kind of the opposite of myself really. It was a nice compliment, really."

"What happened with him?"

"We fought a lot. Eventually it was just too much for us. He was very smart, but his opinions about things were quite different from mine—and we were both very hard-headed."

It had always been rare to see Minerva get choked up about something. It was not something Albus had seen often, despite the fact that he'd been her teacher for seven years. He could only think of three occasions where he'd seen it, and this was one of them. She was holding it back, but it was there, just under the surface.

A moment of comfortable quiet settled between them. It was Minerva who broke it, after she had cleared away the tangle of emotions that talking about Hex had pulled up. She decided that this conversation needed to be pushed away from herself. She would hate to lie to Albus if he suddenly decided to ask if she'd ever been in love at any other time, though she would if he did.

"What about you, Albus?" she asked. "We've talked about my love life for about an hour now. Surely you've got far more fascinating stories to tell."

"I've spent more of my life pursuing knowledge than love."

"You must have fallen in love at least once. I've heard you extol its virtues. A man who's never been in love doesn't do that."

"Well," said Albus thoughtfully, "there was Miranda."

"Miranda?"

He nodded. "This was back in the 1870s. I saw her one day while she was taking a stroll through the garden at a party. A Muggle party."

"She was a Muggle?" Minerva asked curiously.

Albus nodded again, and continued. "I've always felt that one should understand Muggles. They're our brothers in the world, after all, so I would sometimes attend some of their different social functions. When I first saw Miranda she took my breath away.

"I went straight up to her to talk, as soon as I saw her. She was quite bright, very serious though. She had a certain interest in Muggle science. It was fairly undeveloped, however, as women were not supposed to be interested in such things but it was very much there.

"I spent the nest three years courting her, very slowly. I did my best to ingratiate myself to her and her family. Finally I decided it was time to marry her, so I went to ask her father for her hand. He refused. He'd let me court her, but he'd always thought I was odd. He was a man who did not like men who wore too many bright colors or about whom so little was know."

"What did you do then?"

"I asked her to marry me anyway. This whole asking for a woman's hand thing was a Muggle formality as far as I was concerned. We stopped doing that around my own parents time. I figured it was unimportant. I was wrong, of course. She refused to marry me without her father's permission and was so horrified that I'd asked without it that she demanded I never see her again."

"Did you give up?" Minerva asked, her eyes soft.

"Not right away, but eventually, yes," he answered. "Miranda was far too much a product of her time to allow me to persuade her. The fact that we loved each other meant nothing."

Albus saw Minerva's eyes had taken a subtle green tone. She was not in a temper, however. Her mouth was quite visible and her eyes did not blaze so much as seem hardened by some very strong emotion. "If she couldn't bring herself about something like that, then she didn't deserve you."

A laugh rose merrily from Albus' chest. Minerva was stunned by it.

"Minerva, you did not live in those times. I imagine you yourself would have had a hard time breaking away from such a societal law, especially given how much I know you loved your father. Miranda was a woman in some ways very much like yourself."

For a moment, Albus worried he had said too much, but it soon became apparent that Minerva had been made too indignant by his past hurt to pay much attention to what he was saying.

"You can do better than a girl who doesn't want you."

"I thank you, Minerva."

"Well, you're welcome."

"We should sleep."

Minerva cast an eye at the clock. "I suppose. I hate this sleeping during the day thing. My animagus form may be a cat but _I_ am most certainly not nocturnal. I'll be happy when we get this done with and I can go back to sleeping the way I was meant to."

A chuckle escaped Albus lips. "Good night, Minerva."

"You mean 'good afternoon,'" she responded tartly. "And thank you. Good afternoon to use as well."

And with that they both returned to their sleep, the thoughts of each occupied quite heavily by what had been spoken about between them.


	19. As an Auror: Capture

Two more Muggles had been killed and Alastor was convinced he was still at least a day behind Levings' movements. He was getting closer, but not much, and Levings had not fallen into the trio's trap nor had Albus and Minerva noticed her skulking about near their area.

It had been nearly a week since she'd last struck, however, and they were expecting her to do so any time now. They only hoped that they could, perhaps, catch her this time. Albus and Minerva were keeping their eyes peeled for any sign of her and trying to note if anyone seemed to be missing. Alastor was doing his best to catch up to her but it seemed that Miss Levings kept tripping him up. She knew that there had to be an auror trailing her by now and she was making it difficult.

Minerva was honestly more worried for Alastor's safety than her own. She had Albus to watch her back. Alastor did not, and Levings knew that he must exist. As far as she knew, Levings had no idea what Minerva and Albus were up to nor that they even existed in relation to her murders.

"Has Alastor sent another letter yet?" Minerva asked Albus one evening. She'd just woken but there was no sleep in her eyes. She was quite alert.

"Not today," he answered.

Minerva could not stop some of her worry from showing on her face. They'd not heard from Alastor in three days. This was not terribly unusual, but the facts that Levings was due to strike again and that they'd not heard from him in a while as a combination made her uneasy. It just didn't smell right to her and it seemed something was wrong.

Moreover, at times she'd found herself distracted by her continually growing attraction to Albus, and that only increased her worry and created some substantial guilt. What if she'd missed something because of her distracting, and notably silly, attraction to a man who undoubtably still thought of her in many ways as his student.

On the bright side (assuming she wished to term it that), however, the more she worried about Alastor, the less she thought about Albus, something which she considered to be an exceptionally good thing. Her worry drove him straight from her mind, generally speaking. The thought that perhaps she did love Alastor, had brushed into her mind.

"I'm sure he's fine, Minerva," Albus reassured. "He's quite cautious after all."

A small, grim smile appeared in Minerva's lips. "He has all of those scars for a reason, Albus. On occasion, someone is able to get the drop on him."

Albus would have done anything at that moment to have gotten rid of the sadness that haunted Minerva's beautiful eyes. The deep blue color her eyes normally held had turned to resemble a deep ocean, and her eyes were indeed like twin oceans of sadness and worry. He would do anything to five that, absolutely anything at all. His heart told him he should take her into his arms and soothe away the worry, or even go out and find Alastor, no matter how hard that task was, to prove to her that he was okay and she need not worry. As long as it worked, his hear told him to do it. That was what was important.

"He's always come out alive before."

"True," Minerva agreed, and Albus was rewarded with a more genuine smile.

/E/E/E/E/E/

Much to Minerva's relief, they received a letter from Alastor tow days later. He was, indeed, safe and healthy. He was also closing in on Levings. In fact, he was certain he knew what day and where she would strike next.

"That's not far from here at all!" Minerva stated with excitement. "We'll easily be able to keep an eye out. There's no way that she'll be able to abduct any Muggles without out noticing her."

Minerva was terribly pleased at the idea of this expedition ending quickly. At the times when she had escaped her worry long enough for Albus to seep quietly into her thoughts, she'd noticed her thoughts of him becoming more and more similar to those she'd had as a teen in love with him. She'd had enough of worrying about Alastor—the two of them should never be working on an assignment like this together, she'd decided—and even as she contended with that she found herself straying down an all too familiar path. The fact of the matter was that she needed to get away from Albus Dumbledore lest she fall in love with him all over again.

Albus, for his part, would be sorry to see the mission end despite the safety it would bring to the Muggles in this part of London. He liked being around Minerva. He liked speaking with her on a daily basis. As selfish as he knew it was there was a part of him that did not want that to end. He would very much have liked to have stayed like this for a much longer time, just so he might be with her more.

"Let's not get too overconfident," he warned her, his cautions being fed by the idea that the longer this lasted, the longer he was with her. "She's been escaping detection for a long while now."

The truth in Albus' words settled over Minerva like a rather thick and uncomfortable blanket. "That is true, but I hope she doesn't elude us. I don't like the idea of these killings continuing and I don't particularly want to be here more than another day."

Though he knew that her reasons for wanting this mission to end centered more on the fact that she hated what she was pretending to be rather than a desire to be away from him, Albus felt a stab of hurt. The idea of being away from her was not one he liked. They would begin exchanging letters as they had before and distance would grow between them. He did not want that at all.

"I know, Minerva," he said, sitting down next to her. "We will do our best to make ceratin that she is caught, and then you will never have to look at that silly clothing again."

Despite herself, Minerva let out a small laugh. Albus' eccentricity, kindness and love of merriment were all amazing sources of amusement to her. Most of the time, she would respond to his jokes with the most serious expression she could muster, only laughing on the inside. Sometimes though, Albus would manage to actually pull from the stern, serious young woman a laugh, and that was something special. Far more special than Minerva really cared to contemplate.

This needed to end tomorrow.

/E/E/E/E/E/

"With dark skin, an alert expression and cheekbones that Minerva envied, it seemed a shame that a thirteen year old like the one that was just then passing by should live in a neighborhood as bad as this one.

Minerva's eyes followed the girl as she continued on her way. Levings had yet to attack a child and Minerva severely hoped she never would, but it was certainly not guarantied that she would not. What if that very child in front of her, or even a younger one who'd not even reached adolescence, was next? It was certainly a possibility, and most assuredly not a pleasant one. Minerva had always had a certain fondness for young people and she hated—no, dreaded—that possibility. Yet she knew very well that it was indeed that it was indeed a possibility, and in fact could already have happened. Minerva and Albus had been waiting here, right where Alastor's letter had told them that Levings would find her next victim, all day but they'd seen not hide nor hair of either witch or wizard.

Neither Albus nor Minerva knew exactly what was going on with Levings or Alastor, and that was a very bothersome thing indeed.

The girl disappeared from sight. Minerva stayed where she was for a few moments, scanning the people that passed as well as the alleyways and shadows. Seeing nothing, she turned and moved back to Albus.

"Have you seen anything?" he asked.

"No. You?"

"Nothing. Something is not right here. Alastor said she would be here by now. I'm thinking that we have missed her."

"Oh, god, I hope not."

"Well, there is something we are missing here, and I'm thinking it's Miss Levings."

"Why haven't we seen Alastor then?" asked Minerva in a worried tone. "He said he would be right behind her. Surely we'd have seen him even if we missed her. Even if we missed her and he lost her then he'd come and talk to us. She must not have arrived here yet."

The sparkle in Albus' crystal blue eyes was not present and he looked to be deep in thought. "That doesn't seem right, Minerva. None of this seems right and it has not from the beginning."

"What are you talking about, Albus?" Suddenly he'd lost her. It was as though his thoughts had pushed themselves onto a plane that she could not follow them too.

Or perhaps that she was unwilling to follow him to.

"You have good instincts. Tell me that you have not had an ominous feeling hanging over you from the start of this." His eyes were boring straight into hers in the most intense fashion.

She took a step away from him, and her eyes blazed intensely. Her mouth formed a thin line. "That preposterous. That sort of thing is utter nonsense."

"No, it's not, Minerva," he said firmly, and closed the distance between them with a long stride. "This has all been entirely too easy, sounded entirely too easy. Right from the start. In your eagerness to leave, you may have missed it consciously, but I've seen in your eyes all day a look that mirrors my own misgivings on this matter. This has all sounded far too easy, and now things are not going as they seem they should. _Something is wrong_."

A vague amazement at the perceptiveness of Albus flitted across Minerva's mind but was chased quickly away by the thing that had put the thought there in the first place. He was right. This was too easy—and she'd known it the entire time. She'd just been too distracted by her want to get out of here and away from him to allow herself to see it.

Albus could see the realization in Minerva's eyes as she spoke. "We've been intentionally lead astray."

"I agree. Miss Levings has been making us play right into her hands, either by letting Alastor get near her, or by capturing him and making him write that letter to distract us and make us think he's safe."

"Either way, she has Alastor now," said Minerva, drawing the only plausible conclusion from what they knew. Her eyes were dark with worry, though her face remained otherwise impassive, but Albus could see it clearly and wanted sincerely to kiss it away. That would fix nothing, however, and he damned well knew it.

So he decided to do the only thing he knew would help her.

"Come on," he said. "She likes to take her victims to hotels. She'll have taken Alastor to one as well. Hopefully she's not far."

/E/E/E/E/E/

"_Ennervate_."

Alastor's deep brown eyes snapped quickly open. They focused immediately on Miranda Levings, who stepped back from him and then turned, apparently going to get some item or another.

"Well, you've caught me," he told her. She glanced back at him from across the room, a blank and harmless expression on her face. "Now what do you plan to do with me?"

Her face did not change or shift even the smallest bit. She turned her gaze from Alastor and went quietly back to what she was doing. She wasn't going to respond to him and Alastor knew that. Levings wasn't a talker. She worked silently, moved silently. That was how she'd gotten the jump on him, after all. He still had her though. He'd managed to keep his want on him.

And even if that didn't work, Albus and Minerva would figure out what was going on soon enough. They had to have been thinking that there was something too simple and straightforward about that letter he sent them. He'd suspected a trap when he sent them the letter, but at he'd known that Levings was intercepting his owls, he'd not mentioned that in the letter. He realized now that walking into Levings' trap and expecting to catch her anyway had been an arrogant mistake. Hindsight was a bitch.

He'd have needed an eye in the back of his head, or one that could see _through_ the back of his head, in order to have kept Levings from stunning him. She was excellent at stealth and she'd picked a good location to ambush him.

Alastor began slowly loosening the bonds Levings had conjured around her wrists.

/E/E/E/E/E/

As it turned out, it did not matter that Alastor had managed to keep his wand. Whether Levings noticed Alastor slowly loosening his bonds or simply wanted a victim that did not move, no one ever did find out. In either event, she placed him a full Body Bind and he was rendered helpless just as it seemed that he would be making another spectacular capture of a dark witch.

Only Alastor's eyes betrayed his pain as she began to cut lazily into the skin on his palm with a cursed knife that had been gifted to her by Grindelwald. He was trapped, immobile on the floor and unable to do anything to prevent the searing pain the knife caused when it so much as touched his skin. Had he been able to, he surely would have screamed.

He could feeling the knife tracing its way up his arm, burning unnaturally and reviving the pain in old curse scars as it slicing jaggedly through them. The pain kept all of his attempts at performing soundless spells from being at all effective. He was completely helpless and that was something far more disturbing and unpleasant to him than event the torture he was enduring.

Alastor passed out at least twice during the entire ordeal. Every time he did, Leavings would cease her cutting immediately and revive him, so she might further enjoy the storms of pain that swirled about his eyes. He had no idea how much of the day had slipped away from him during the time she'd been cutting and slashing at different parts of his body, nor how close help might or might not be.

/E/E/E/E/E/

Levings had just began cutting on Alastor's handsome face when Albus burst into the room and sent a stunning spell hurtling straight at her. She was blasted clear away from Alastor's unmoving form as it hit her.

Minerva, who'd been right behind Albus as they'd ran outright to the room where the clerk has said a woman of Levings' description and using one of her aliases has checked in, pushed straight past Albus and into the room. She lifted the Body Bind from him and pull his bleeding body into her arms. Albus could see a few rare teardrops glimmering on Minerva's fair cheeks as she queried Alastor about his condition.

As much as he liked Alastor and was happy to see him alive, the sight of Minerva holding a man he respected and would even hazard to call a friend so close to her body hurt Albus to see. How could he have allowed himself to fall in love with her?

The question crossed his mind even before the realization behind it did. It was not something he noticed, however. He was too absorbed in what he saw before him. Pain and jealousy roared through him. He hated seeing how much Minerva cared for Alastor. He wanted to be the object of that affection, and had secretly, unconsciously hoped there was a chance that he could at least become that.

Minerva's eyes swept up to meet his own, a thankful look in them. All of the sudden a new emotion was added to the ones he was already feeling. She was happy to see Alastor okay, and as much as the source of that happiness hurt him, he was indeed very glad to see it there. He would do anything to see her happy, to see one of her rare smiles light her face.

He allowed the new emotion to flood over the others. What good was love if a person twisted it so that their own selfish desired outweighed those of the person they loved?

Albus moved forward to help Minerva. "Let's get Alastor to St. Mungo's. I don't like the color that some of those cuts are turning."

Minerva nodded at him and the thankful look in her eyes made his heart swell.

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Author's Note: I'm sorry Kaima, but I do believe I will be driving you crazy for a while longer. You and everyone else, for that matter (more than likely). I any event, I appreciate everyone's patience and if you stick with me I am hopeful that I will not disappoint. In the meantime, there's a little button down at the corner of this screen just screaming at you to click it and review. Obey the button.


	20. As an Auror: Trust

"Happy Birthday."

"What's this?"

"Birthday present."

"It's moving."

"Just open it, Minerva," Alastor told her gruffly.

Eyeing the package carefully and with the memory of the time her sister had given her a loose bludger in a box (along with a cryptic warning) as a 'joke' for her sixth birthday clearly in mind, she reached for the bow that held on the loose lid. As the pale blue ribbon slipped away, the lid was quickly pushed off by the furry gold speckled, black snout of what looked remarkably like a kitten with overlarge ears. Happy to be free of its container, it quickly jumped out of the box and onto Minerva's kitchen table. A long tail with a grey tuft at its end swished pleasantly for side to side, gently hitting some flowers in a vase.

"A kneazle," Minerva observed.

"That's right," said Alastor, beaming.

Minerva pulled the animal into her arms from the table. "Why, thank you, Alastor." She'd been expecting something like a sneakoscope. That was more Alastor's style. A present as adorable as this one was completely unexpected.

Alastor nodded, a crooked smile set upon his face. "Thought you might like one. Damn useful, kneazles. They have a way of knowing when someone untrustworthy is about. If that one starts crazy around someone, best to watch them closely."

Minerva's body suddenly went very stiff. Her hand stopped its petting and rubbing motions atop the kneazle's head and the animal looked up at her with a look that was a mixture of confusion and expectancy. She did not look down at it, and soon the look changed to one of confusion. Minerva's gaze pinned Alastor with a fierce look.

A sneakoscope she could have handled, but the disappointment that the kneazle was simply a security measure was too much.

"How can you say that?"

It was all Alastor could do to not allow his exasperation to show on his face and incur more of Minerva's wrath. "What do you mean, 'how could I say that'?"

"You're treating that sweet creature as though it were a mere tool."

"It's useful to security. That's all I said."

He'd done it then. Minerva was in a right temper. He could barely see her mouth for it had formed that thin line so characteristic of her anger and her eyes were suddenly a very obvious shade of green instead of their normal blue. She allowed the kneazle to slip gently from her arms and onto the floor. Unbothered, it began sniffing the furniture and exploring its new home, leaving Alastor and Minerva to fight by themselves.

"You think _everything_ is useful to security!"

He hated it when she yelled at him about this. Security was important! They were aurors for Merlin's sake. Did she simply not understand the danger that presented?

"That's an exaggeration."

"You're right," she fumed. "Let me rephrase: everything you ever buy or talk about is useful to security."

"What's wrong with that?" he asked tartly.

"Your entire house is _filled_ with _SECURITY ITEMS_, Alastor!"

"Damn right it is!" He could yell too, dammit.

Minerva huffed out a breath. Her thin nostrils flared. "It's all you ever think about, Alastor. You're paranoid."

"Dammit, it's not paranoia if you're right! How often do I have to tell you that?"

"It's not healthy," Minerva pressed

A look of pure and utter horror appeared on Alastor's mildly scarred face. "It's what _kept_ me healthy—as in alive—for as long as I've been an auror!"

"It's all you ever think about," she fumed. "I don't think you're capable of much else."

Alastor could feel the meaning behind Minerva's words pressing silently and oppressively at him. Trust. That's what she meant when she said that. That was what she thought he was incapable of. She wasn't saying it now, but she'd said it before and he knew that was what she meant.

He didn't know whether to be angry or hurt by that. He didn't know how to respond to either what she'd said or what she hadn't said. A thick, stifling silence had fallen between them. He shifted uncomfortably.

Slowly, Minerva's eyes returned to their normal color, her lips became visible and the blotches of heavy red on her cheeks faded. It was she who finally broke the silence.

"I can't do this anymore, Alastor," she said quietly. "This is something that has always been sitting between us like some sort of impenetrable charm, and it always will be."

Alastor knew what was coming. It wasn't a terribly hard equation, nor did it require a big leap to arrive at the correct conclusion. He felt as though he should say something, but he'd never been terribly good with words. He could speak his mind well enough, but eloquence was not a trait of his and somehow he felt that was what was required here.

He remained silent.

"Alastor, I think—"

Knowing that the time when eloquence was needed had suddenly passed, Alastor found his voice.

"It's all right, Minerva," he told her in a voice that was just gruff enough to seem inappropriate to the situation. He cleared his throat. "I'll, uh, I'll just be off."

Minerva nodded mutely. The actual words of what was happening did not need to be spoken. They both knew everything the other could say. Not speaking at all was easier.

They both moved toward the door. Silently, Alastor opened it. Then, carefully positioning himself so his back was not facing the street, he made a truly uncharacteristic show of affection and kissed her gently on the temple.

"Happy Birthday," he said and the gruffness was back in his voice.

"Thank you."

Minerva did not know what to feel right then. In some ways, this was a relief, and after all she'd never loved Alastor. Not as a lover, at least. As a friend, Alastor was a dear, but as lovers they were not well matched. She knew that.

A small little something moved quickly past her leg and in one swift motion, Minerva reached down and grabbed the kneazle which had been moving quickly toward the door.

"I don't think we should be letting you outside," she told it.

It looked at her curiously.

"Th Muggles will notice you," she explained and the small creature seemed quite satisfied.

She closed the door, then simply stood there stroking the kneazle in her arms absentmindedly.

After a while, she looked down at the animal.

"It's funny," she mused, "how what is arguably the best gift I ever received caused all of this."

The kneazle purred at her.

Realizing she needed to be at her mother's for the family celebration of her birthday, she put the kneazle onto the floor and began making her way to her bedroom.

_Well_, she thought wryly, _my mother will be pleased to hear what happened._


	21. As a Teacher: Appointment

For what had to be the millionth time, Albus Dumbledore wondered at his reasoning for doing what he was about to do.

_Minerva McGonagall has excellent organizational skills. She'll make a fine teacher and a fine administrator. We work well together. I know that. The fact that I'm in love with her is utterly irrelevant._

As he waited in a small antechamber to speak with the board of directors about his want to make Minerva McGonagall both the Head of Gryffindor House _and_ his Deputy Headmistress, he simply kept on telling himself that. Over and over again. He wasn't certain he actually believed it.

It had been years since he'd last seen Minerva, back when he'd worked with she and Alastor Moody to apprehend Miranda Levings. He'd written to her faithfully and consistently, however, over those years and his heart had somehow not wavered from her. Every time he read a letter from her his imagination seemed to bring her straight to life right next to him.

His heart had leapt immediately when he'd first received the letter in which she told him that she and Alastor had broken off their relationship. Afterwards, he'd felt as though he should have felt bad at hearing that news. Minerva had broken up with a boyfriend of more than a couple years and he was also friends with that boyfriend. He could not help himself, however, and he'd quickly banished his guilt by remembering that it had been a long time in coming between the two.

Often, he'd thought about confessing his love to Minerva, before she became involved with someone else. He never had. He'd no clue to her feelings but faint glimmerings in her eyes that he could have imagined. Moreover, he still only spoke to her in letters. That was not a state in which he could begin a romantic relationship. His love for her had remained unspoken.

"The Governors are ready to see you, Headmaster."

"Thank you," Albus replied politely, getting up from the plump orange armchair he'd conjured for his wait. He dematerialized it with a quick spell, then walked into the chamber where Hogwarts' Governors were having its meeting.

"Hello, gentlemen." There was not one witch to be found amongst the Governors this year. Not even one of the parent members.

Various greetings from the school Governors were uttered in response. When the Head Governor cleared his throat, however, all fell silent so that they might get down to the business that had gathered them in the comfortable little meeting chamber.

"All right, I believe we all know why we are here."

The man's fellows all nodded. Albus remained still and silent.

The Head Governor, Angus Hart, cleared his throat again. "Now, Dumbledore, we all heartily approve your hiring of Minerva McGonagall to the recently vacated position of transfigurations teacher. She's well qualified and your own reports of her as a student under your tutelage are outstanding—but honestly, making her Deputy Headmistress? That's absurd by itself. Doing that in addition to making her Head of Gryffindor is ludicrous. You can't possibly expect us to approve this."

"Minerva McGonagall is the staff member most qualified for both positions."

There was more than one guffaw from the Governors. Hart managed to politely contain his own, though barely. Professor McGonagall was a very qualified teacher, and well suited to the post of transfigurations teacher. Someday she would likely fill either one or both of the positions Dumbledore wanted her in exceptionally well, but as of right now she'd never taught so much as one student before. She was completely green. She might have been Dumbledore's pet student once upon a time but that did not mean there was no one better qualified for either position on the staff.

"She's the only staff member who can fill the position of Head of Gryffindor House."

"Excuse me?" asked Hart.

"There are only five members of the staff who are former members of Gryffindor. Two of them, Rubeus Hagrid and Darlene Hooch, are not Professors at the school and thus cannot fill the position. I, of course, am another one of the former members. As Headmaster, however, I, too, am unable to fill the position."

"Which leaves only Minerva McGonagall and Galatea Merrythought to fill the position."

Albus nodded in confirmation. A sigh escaped Hart's lips.

"Professor Merrythought is retiring this summer," said a wizard with thinning brown hair.

"And even if she weren't," the wizard two seats to his left began, "she's notorious for not accepting management positions of any sort. She's passed up the offering of Head of House twice, and that of Deputy Head once already."

"Which leaves Professor McGonagall to fill the position." It was the first time Victor Reynolds, the most senior of all the Governors and the true leader of the group, had spoken during the entire meeting.

There was no question about Minerva's appointment as Head of Gryffindor now. Whenever Victor made a decision the entire group followed him. He was the man that Albus had to convince that Minerva was the right person for the position of Deputy Head. Luckily, Victor had a tendency to be a very reasonable, logical individual rather than hard headed and politically minded as Hart was.

"We will allow the appointment of Professor McGonagall as Head of Gryffindor," said Hart, taking his lead from Victor, "as she's the only one qualified to take the position. I believe we are agreed?"

There was a chorus of 'aye's from around the table.

"Right," said Hart with a nod, "but there's still the matter of the appointment of a Deputy Head to be handled. She may be the only one available for the position of Head of Gryffindor House but I still do not think it a wise decision to appoint her as Deputy Head."

"Traditionally the Headmaster is given free reign over such decisions—including that of appointing Heads of House. A decision which I feel compelled to point out that I was right about."

It was true, Hogwarts' Governors had not felt compelled to question the Headmaster of Hogwarts on such decisions since the mid 1700s. It was a testament to how unusual Albus' decision was that they were questioning this one.

"Be that as it may," said Hart with an expression which was a mixture of firm belief in his own correctness and the drawn expression of a man who feels taxed by the things he feels others put him through, "I question the idea of making her Deputy Headmistress, Dumbledore. It is, after all, a very important position. We cannot allow someone who cannot handle the position to take it. The results could be quite disastrous for everyone involved. Also, I would like to note that most Headmasters have made obviously sound choices on such matters and not decided to appoint teachers only hired within the same school year."

"So you view my decision as too controversial?" That was obviously the thought goign through the Head Governor's head. His response to Albus' statement had reeked with concern for his own political interests. Albus did not think he was unconcerned with how the school faired—though that might have been his propensity to see good in all people showing itself—but he also knew that he was concerned first with his political standing. This position was one of politics and power to Hart.

Hart appeared flustered but he was saved from answered Albus's question by a short, balding wizard sitting at the end of the table opposite from Victor.

"Why do you say that, Headmaster?"

"Because that is the only reason I can see for you to oppose this decision," Albus answered calmly.

"You can't be serious, Dumbledore!" said Hart in exasperation. "Hogwarts if full of teachers! Someone with more experience is far more qualified!"

"Minerva McGonagall is not some new teacher just out of Hogwarts, Angus. She was an auror for nearly fifteen years."

"She had no experience in either teaching or administration," Hart pointed out sharply. "Your other staff members each have at least one of those."

"That does not make them more qualified. Minerva McGonagall is the best person for the job. That is why I chose her."

"What of your other Professors? Obviously Professor Merrythought is out of the question but there are ten other staff members in teaching positions at Hogwarts."

"Indeed, there are," said Albus with a polite nod.

"What of them?"

"Well, our most experienced staff member is Professor Binns, as he has been teaching at Hogwarts since 1798, but as a ghost he is unable to perform all of the duties required. I'm sure we can all agree about that."

There were nods from around the table.

"Horace Slughorn, is the next most senior Professor not already eliminated as a candidate. He, however, is uninterested in the position."

Albus saw more than one shocked look appear on the faces of the wizards seated at the table. They were in the minority, however. Many of the Governors had been members of Horace's 'Slug Club' as students. He'd helped them get their current jobs and they knew him well enough to know that he was not the average Slytherin interested in gaining power and prestige directly. Despite his old house, he was not the type who would jump at the offerings of such power. They were not shocked at all.

Albus paused so the few surprised Governors could wipe the shocked expressions from their faces, then continued with his listing of the Hogwarts teachers. He intended to list all of them, and show why they had been eliminated in favor of Minerva if he needed to.

"Professor Amanda Chantry, Head of Hufflepuff House, was the next member of my current staff hired. Now, she is quite agreeable to work with and I know would be willing to take the position of Deputy Head were it formally offered to her." Albus detected a look of triumph creep onto Angus Hart's face upon hearing his words. Albus continued to speak without pause, however, not acknowledging the change in Hart's facial expression. "However, it is my opinion that she does not possess the traits I would deem necessary in a Deputy Head under myself. She is exceptionally disorganized, a weakness I myself possess, and it is not in her nature to be firm with people if she can avoid it. She has a tendency to be reluctant to even deduct points from the Houses. I think that the school would not fair as well as it could under the combined supervision of myself and Amanda. It would suffer from a lack of firm organization that the administration should be providing."

Both Albus and Angus Hart saw Victor's old, silvery head nod in agreement. The victory was instantly wiped from Hart's face. Albus chose that moment to mention the comment Amanda had made to him when he'd spoken to her about his need for a Deputy.

"She is quite aware of the need for those traits within the school, as well, as it were. She actually suggested to me that I should appoint Minerva based on the fact that she is very much endowed with those traits. Amanda taught Minerva while she was in school, along with myself and five of the other staff members."

"Really? What do the others think of Minerva as a possible Deputy Head?"

Albus turned his twinkling gaze to the Governor who'd just spoken and gave his answer. "They all generally agree with the idea. We all agree she is well suited to such a position of management, though Galatea Merrythought expressed some concern at her general lack of sociability."

Seeing an opening that could possibly help him, Hart pounced. "Do you not think that an unsociable Deputy would be a problem, Dumbledore?" There was the slightest hint of condescension in Hart's town. Only Albus noticed it, and it did not bother him in the least. He had expected Hart to act no differently and did not fault him for doing what he was doing. Few other people were likely to greet the idea of Minerva suddenly becoming Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor and transfigurations professor with any sort of joy.

"I do not. Firstly, I think it is unfair to call Minerva unsociable. I find her to be quite agreeable, if something of an introvert. Secondly, I think that it unnecessary for both the Headmaster and Deputy to possess all good administrative qualities in abundance if between both there is no want for those qualities."

There was another nod from Victor. Albus, with his abundant people skills, was doing well with him. He was managing to hit all the right points and it was seeming very much to grey haired old man that inexperienced or not, Minerva was the witch for the job.

"I see," said Hart, and he was scowling, also having noticed that Victor was nodding too. Hart was no fool. He knew who the man who really made the Governor's decisions was. "Still, some of your other staff members must possess good organizational skills."

"Of course. Patience Cosmos, Rachel Hanson, Professor Rodgers and Pomona Sprout would all fall under that category."

Hart raised an eyebrow. "And none of them would do?"

"Actually, Patience would have been an excellent candidate," said Albus with a slight upbeat and a smile. "She and Minerva are actually quite similar in work style. However, she does not wish to take on the position of Deputy Headmistress in addition to her duties as Head of Ravenclaw."

"She feels it's too much work?" Hart asked.

Noticing how Hart had phrased his question, Albus made sure to phrase his answer correctly. "She has other concerns. Taking both positions would take up much of her time."

"She has an autistic grandson, doesn't she?" asked someone. Albus did not quite catch who.

If Hart was surprised or exasperated by question it did not show on his face. He simply looked at Albus for either confirmation or denial.

"She does," he said with a nod. "She likes to spend time with him when she can."

"Well, no one can fault her that," said Hart, all intentions he's had of pointing out that Professor McGonagall would be a brand new teacher doing the same amount of work Professor Cosmos did not wish to take on vanishing from his mind. "You mentioned Albert Rodgers as a possibility?"

"He's quite qualified," Albus admitted, his eyebrows knitted. "However, he and I are prone to . . . disagreements. Mostly of an intellectual nature. It makes for excellent debate which I am quite fond of, but I do not think that it would work well to have him as my Deputy Head for that reason."

Most of the people in the chamber seemed intrigued by Albus' reasoning. The great Albus Dumbledore was human enough to have disagreements with people other than forces of darkness like Grindelwald? Who knew?

"I see," said Hart, "and the others?"

"Professor McGonagall has more overall work experience than Professor Hanson and I feel that the position needs to be filled by someone who has more experience working than three years of teaching."

"We can agree on that," said Hart. "Sprout?"

"She doesn't want the position. She feel it's too detached from the students, which she considers to be her primary concern."

"Have you gone through your entire staff and asked them about what should be done about the filling of the position and how they would feel about taking it?"

It was Victor, sitting thoughtfully at the end of the table, who'd asked.

Albus turned and spoke directly to Victor, respect reflected on his features. Victor was a simple but very wise man. Albus had always considered him to be a person to be emulated.

"Yes, I have."

"And based on all of this you are firm in your belief that Professor McGonagall should get the position?"

"And on my own perceptions and opinions of her, yes," Albus answered.

Victor gave a slow nod and stared thoughtfully at Albus for a moment. There eyes were locked on each other, and Albus felt a slight bit of nervousness rise in him. Victor was decided right now, what he thought. It was there in his eyes. Albus was fairly certain that he'd won this battle but he could not be sure until Victor announced it was so.

Albus was not held in suspense long.

Looking toward Angus Hart at the center of the table, he spoke. "Well, I've heard enough. I'm quite convinced that Albus has done right here by choosing her as his Deputy Headmistress."

There were nods and murmurs of agreement.

"Shall we put it to a vote then?"

More sounds of agreement filled the chamber.

"All those in favor?"

Not one person did not register their vote to be in favor of Minerva's appointment.

"Against?"

Silence.

"Well, that's settled then," said Hart. "Tell Professor McGonagall congratulations, Dumbledore."

"Thank you," said Albus with a small smile visible through his auburn beard, then he turned and left.

A small sigh escaped Angus Hart's lips as his fellow Governors sat up from their seats. The public was going to hate this. People were going to be questioning this right and left. It was bad politics. He didn't like it.

He had to admit, though, he did think she was the right person for the job.


	22. As a Teacher: Celebration or Work

Author's Notes:

Sorry for the shortness of this, but it just seemed like next couple of bits would work better as their own chapter. Moreover, I like to give people something new to read at least once a week and I'm uber busy right now with evil things like scholarship applications (damn college tuition).

Anyway, for your enjoyment, a teensy bit more of my, er, little (yeah, right) stroy.

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"What did the Governors decide?"

Minerva was waiting for Albus in his office when he returned. She sat calmly on a crimson couch set off to the side of the room, with her long legs crossed and her hands resting neatly in her lap. If Albus hadn't known her better he would have thought she could not have cared less about how the meeting with the Governors turned out.

But he did know her better than that. The hazel eyes peering through square glasses were filled with nervousness and piercing him with their intensity.

Albus removed his traveling cloak and tossed it onto a nearby chair. Minerva peered at it for a moment and he knew she was simply itching to place it up on the cloak stand in the corner of his office. She might well have been the neatest and most organized person he knew, exempting those with mental disorders that compelled them to be neat.

"I presented the facts to them and they are quite in agreement with me that you are the witch for both of those jobs. It was a unanimous decision." He smiled at her. "Congratulations, Minerva."

Minerva allowed herself a smile. It was the first smile that Albus had seen on her face in simply years and it warmed his heart to see it. He was glad to see it on her face. He knew she'd wanted both of those positions very much despite the workload it would entail. It was nice to see that she was allowing herself to enjoy her victory—and it was her victory. He might have talked the Governors into appointing her but that was only because she deserved the jobs that he could do that.

This was indeed her victory. Minerva was an astounding woman.

"I must admit, I'm very relieved to hear that. I was worried." Her eyes met his, and suddenly her smile was focused directly at him. "Thank you, Albus. This means a large deal to me and I know you know that."

"Not at all, my dear. I offered you both positions. It was my duty to assure that you got them once offered."

"That's very sweet," Minerva replied, blushing and embarrassed. Albus was every inch the gentleman. It was a trait she adored in him, but it was also one that she was never quite sure what to do with. Most people were polite, of course, but only Albus was a gentlemen. Only he would express himself in that elegantly polite manner. It seemed too much to be the target of such things—but Albus was like that with everybody.

"Why are you so embarrassed by the idea that I was defending an agreement with you?"

_Damn him!_ she thought, slightly angry at herself for allowing her emotions to be so easily read by him. _He always knows everything? How does a person keep a secret in this bloody castle?_

Yet she should know, shouldn't she? She had done so for years, after all—or maybe she only thought she had. That was a possibility that had occurred to her more than once over the years.

"I am not embarrassed," she replied sternly.

"You're blushing."

She scowled at him, making it very clear that this was not a subject she wished him to push. He was to drop the matter immediately.

He did. He knew that she was embarrassed to have been caught being embarrassed and that it was her pride that caused both. Minerva liked to appear strong and to do things for herself. It was simply who she was. She'd been like that every since she was a child. He remembered that quite clearly. Still, he felt that it had not been an entirely bad idea to inquire. People did change and the fact of the matter was that Minerva was a harder person to read that most. At times she truly did keep him on his toes and guessing.

"Well then," he said, quickly changing the subject. "Now that we've gotten things cleared with the Governors, I think that now is the time celebrate, don't you?"

"Not at all," Minerva replied, rising from her place on the couch and moving toward him. "There's a lot of work to be done and we've been delayed from starting on it because of this trouble with my appointment. We should finish that before beginning to contemplate things such as celebration."

"There's time for work later," said Albus with a flippant wave and a pleasant smile that Minerva would have found quite hard to resist at nearly any other point in time. He began moving to get his cloak. Minerva placed a firm hand on his arm, stopping him where he stood.

"That's no way to run a school," she pointed out. "Without us doing our jobs it will not function. Getting our work done should be our priority. There is time for _celebration_ later."

Albus neither completely agreed, nor disagreed with Minerva. She was right, of course, work was important and there was much they needed to get done. It had been delayed for two weeks already, however, and he did not feel that spending a few hours working now would make much of a difference. Besides, in his view this merited celebration and it would only happen once. Minerva would only be appointed Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor once. It should be acknowledged as an event of note.

Minerva was looking at him quite sternly, however. Her mind seemed set and Albus had plenty of first hand experience at how difficult it was to change her mind once it had done that. Arguing with her was not the answer.

"You're not going to budge on this matter, are you?"

"No, I'm not. I've got a lot of work to do and I intend to see that it is done on time."

"Will you listen to a compromise?" he asked.

Minerva raised a curious eyebrow, her face still the model of firmness and calm. "Go on."

She might as well listen to him. After all, they would be working together. This would not be the only time they would have to compromise. It did not seem a bad idea to her to start getting used to that now.

"Well, it's about four o'clock, now. We could work until about nine or ten o'clock this evening then head down to the village and have a drink at the Three Broomsticks—perhaps we might even invite a few of our colleagues and announce your appointment. How does that sound?"

Minerva scrutinized him carefully. "And it would be straight back to work once we returned?" she inquired eyeing him piercingly and tilting her head slightly.

"If you wish."

"I believe I can live with that," she told him. "Now, let's get to work or I'll change my mind."


	23. As a Teacher: Invitation

A sharp knock sounded on Albus office door. Albus looked up at the door, fairly certain of who it was standing behind it. The knock had possessed an authority that most did not.

"Come in," he called.

The door opened, and as Albus had presumed would be so, Minerva strode briskly and importantly into his office with a number of rolls of parchment tucked tightly beneath an arm.

"Albus, we need to go through you lesson notes," she said as she walked in, not even pausing to bother with a greeting. "I can make almost nothing of them and I just can't stand it anymore."

Albus stared at her in curious surprise. "The term started two weeks ago, Minerva. Why didn't you come to me sooner?"

_Because it's embarrassing to be having such problems with a few notes. Moreover, because it's embarrassing to actually need such a crutch_, she thought bitterly, pointedly ignoring his question.

"I brought them with me, if you're free now. If not, I'd like to find out the soonest it would be convenient for you to help me take care of this."

Help me. Now there were two words she hated to say. There was no real shame in them. That was something she knew, at least intellectually, but she always felt inadequate and weak saying them.

Albus was aware of this, and knew that it was the reason why she'd kept this from him until she simply could not stand it anymore. She'd changed quite a bit since she was a child—grown more mature and wiser—but some things simply never changed about a person. This was something about Minerva that would never change. In his opinion, that was too bad. After all, one person could not do or know all things—despite how Minerva seemed to try to disprove it.

"I've been going off of what I remember from your transfiguration classes when I was here," Minerva admitted reluctantly, to punctuate the situation. She hated telling him that, but at least she knew that he would never think any less of her for saying it. It made it easier to say. She did, after all, value his opinion highly.

"Are they really that indecipherable?" asked Albus, getting up from his desk and putting out his hand for one of the rolls of parchment notes.

She handed him one of the rolls and sat down next to him on one of the couches as he unrolled and began examining it. "Well, they're perfectly _readable_—the handwriting is neat and such—but that wouldn't help anyone. There's no organization to be found in any of this! You've got little notes scattered all over the roll, completely out of order with no marked connections to one another—and you must have some sort of shorthand in there because I checked and not all of those are even real words."

Minerva could hear the exasperation in her own voice. She'd been at these notes for nearly a month before finally giving up.

"Ah," said Albus with a light smile. "It had not occurred to me that you might have problems with these, though upon further thought I suppose it should have."

The corner of Minerva's mouth twitched a bit with a contained smile. "Well, I imagine that's because it's never been a problem for you. How, I'm not quite certain, despite the fact that you wrote them, but then you've never been very organized."

He chuckled a bit and Minerva could not stop herself from inwardly smiling in the most appallingly girlish way at how his eyes seemed to twinkle in time with soft fluctuations of his voice. "That's what I have you for, Minerva. Organization."

It had been a practical comment, one that was entirely true and completely without any hidden meanings to be had. Minerva knew that. It still had sounded different to her ears. Her heart had skipped a beat as soon as she'd heard him say it. Inwardly she wanted that to mean something different.

Here she went again, futilely longing for someone who was completely out of bounds. He might not be her teacher now, but he was still a good eighty years older than her and the fact that she worked for him made things no better. She'd recognized this risk when she'd taken the job, and firmly decided that she was in enough control of her emotions to handle it. She'd had her doubts then, however, and there were still some doubts now. She was beginning to react powerfully to his words and actions already wasn't she? She was, despite any thoughts of not doing so, and she'd only been here four a little over a month.

She needed a distraction.

Work, now that was an excellent distraction from everything—and it was what she was here for wasn't it? She simply needed to get into what it was she was doing and focus. That shouldn't be that hard, a strong work ethic came naturally to her.

"Thank you," she responded with a polite sort of briskness. She surprised herself by how unaffected she sounded. She would have convinced herself of that, at least. Her eyes flashed quickly to the parchment Albus had open in front of them, scanning it quickly as she looked for a place to start.

"Now about this mess here," she began, pointing at a particularly thick cluster of writing. "It says something about an idea having to do with O.W.L preparations—but your short hand disguises what."

Albus gazed at the indicated writing thoughtfully and absentmindedly stroked his long, greying auburn beard. "Hmm."

Minerva watched him as he thought over his notes. She would have thought he'd have known what they meant instantly. Memory was, after all, the only way she could see for him to make anything of the notes at all. It seemed that for the notes to be of any use to him, he would need to be able to recall what note referenced what, and so forth, fairly efficiently. Otherwise what was the point in them?

Finally Albus looked back at her, a sort of bemused look on his face. "Honestly, Minerva, I've no idea what it means. I haven't looked at these in years."

"I should have known," said Minerva, shaking her dark head. "It didn't seem possible that anyone could possibly make any use of these. There's no order to them. I just don't know how you managed to teach at all effectively for so long with your notes being in such a state."

"I simply don't use notes like that," Albus told her. "I write these things down to help commit them to memory. Then I never look at them again. I honestly have a hard time grasping what you use them for at all."

The dry look upon Minerva's face at that particular moment was priceless. Albus quickly committed it to memory. "Of course you don't. I use them to keep written records of my systems and for ease of revision."

"You must have far more notes on things than I am aware of."

"I've the feeling that if you were aware of exactly how many of them I have catalogued away in my living quarters you would fall into a useless stupor."

"I think you give me too little credit, Minerva," chided Albus, his eyes meeting her own. "I'm not at all adverse to organization—"

"You're simply incapable of it."

"Exactly," he responded with a large smile.

Minerva smiled too, then suddenly stopped. How had they shifted from working to this? Wasn't that supposed to be how she was distracting herself? She quickly began shifting her mind set back to what she had come here for. Work came first, relaxation later. She could not remember a point in her life when that had not been the self-enforced rule. That was not changing now. Especially not for something as silly as some crush she had on her employer.

"It's late and I have to teach in the morning, Albus," she said as her face returned to its normally calm expression, all traces of the smile erased. "We should get back to what we were doing."

The smile vanished from Albus' face as well. She was right, of course. "Indeed. The issue of the indecipherable notes."

"If you didn't use your notes, then what did you do about your lessons?"

"I simply pulled them from memory. I had a general idea of what should be expected and be taught when and simply went from there."

"So, I assume you remember everything of relevance then?" asked Minerva, and from the way the tone of her voice became ever so slightly sweeter, Albus knew he was about to have his brain picked over quite thoroughly.

That was fine by him. He considered suck things to be excellent mental exercise for both parties. It was something Minerva had often done as a student. She was the type of person who would know every secret the world had to offer if it was at all possible. It was one of the many things he loved about her. It took an exceptionally sharp woman to capture the attention of Albus Dumbledore. Doubly so, for one to capture his heart.

"Perhaps not everything," he admitted, "but I've no doubt you could put my knowledge to good use."

Smiles of victory were far more common occurrences for Minerva than absolutely any other kind of smile. It was that cat-like smile that Albus saw emerge right then. He knew all of her smiles by heart. He'd learned them without even realizing it, years ago.

"Excellent," she said and got up to get a quill and parchment. Albus began to get up as well, to assist her finding them. She waved him back down. "I can manage—just make yourself comfortable there. This will take a while."

Watching as Minerva bent over to rifle through on of his desk drawers, Albus did as he was told. He was quite fine with this. He liked watching and hearing Minerva think. He actually found it to be quite an attractive process. There was nothing quite as attractive as intelligence.

In other words, he could think of far worse ways to spend the evening.

/E/E/E/E/E/

"I expect those essays on the basics of invertebrate to be on my desk by the time class starts," Minerva reminded her exiting third year Hufflepuff class. They were her last class on Friday afternoons. The week was finally over and she could finally get to some of her neglected work as Deputy Headmistress.

She saw Albus edging into the room amidst her exiting students. His blue eyes followed the last student, a plump blonde girl by the name of Margaret Demple, as she hurried after her classmates.

"Ah, the Friday afternoon scurry for the door," he said, glancing over at Minerva and smiling. "I remember it well."

"Reminiscing about you teacher days?" asked Minerva as she began straightening her desk—which wasn't at all messy unless one counted a very neat pile of rolled up parchment which she'd not yet had time to put away. Her entire classroom, desk included, was meticulous. It was the first thing Minerva had heard her students remark about in their first classes.

"No," he said, still smiling and shaking his head. "About my days as a student, actually."

"I see," said Minerva, and she allowed herself a smile that was nearly undetectable to most people, though friends and family had learned to recognize it. "I thought it odd to reminisce about something so recent—but you were reminiscing about something that was a century ago."

She almost wished she hadn't said that. Reminders about why her annoyingly still present feelings for him were a good thing, as they discouraged them, but they were painful too. She didn't understand herself. What made Albus so much better than anyone else?

The problem was that there were what seemed to be a million answers to that question. She'd never met a greater wizard in her life. He was the greatest and there was no one she admired more. She'd hero-worshiped the man on some level since childhood.

Intellectually she knew that was why she felt as she did, but another part of her was still confused by her amazingly inconvenient feelings for him. Some part of her that was separate from both her intellect and feelings but still influenced by both simply did not understand.

This entire thing was a mess. She understood it yet she didn't. She cared for Albus yet she fought it. She'd admired and looked up to him like no one else yet she still regarded him as her friend and equal. It didn't make sense and all it did was make her life irritatingly complicated.

Her smile had vanished now, and Albus was looking at her oddly. She felt as though she should say something.

"Is there something you needed, Albus?"

"Not in particular. I just came to see how your classes have been fairing since you picked through my brain this past Sunday."

"That's very thoughtful,"she said, and wished crossly that her heart wouldn't leap in her chest at such small courtesies from him. It was silly. This entire thing was silly.

"A simple courtesy," said Albus dismissing the compliment. "Although I must confess a certain curiosity about how this is turning out. I was, after all, somewhat involved in the process."

There, he'd even said it. It was a simple courtesy—and damn her, she was hurt by it. This wasn't right. He was her boss. He was too old for her. He had no interest in her. Shouldn't she just be able to forget this and let it be?

"Of course," she said, a calm nod hiding her true feelings. "So, far as I can tell, they seem to be going quite well, though I wish to reserve complete judgement until I know exactly how well the students are progressing."

"Logical," he agreed. "The students are, after all, the ones whom we are here for."

She bent down to get a number of forms from her desk drawer, turning her back to Albus in the process. "Try telling them that."

"Have you encountered some troublemakers, my dear?"

Minerva turned around, and looked at him. He wore a look of worry upon his face and his eyes seemed to have lost their twinkle. She laughed. "Of course I have, but I assure you that I quickly showed them that I will be tolerating nonsense from no one."

He seemed to take her laughter as a sign that she was not having any undue trouble and he gave a sort of embarrassed smile to her.

_Good. He should know better than to think I couldn't handle a few teenagers._

"Forgive me. I should have known."

_Damn right_, she agreed silently.

"But what makes you say that?"

"This from the man who was just a few moments ago was reminiscing about his long gone days as a student?" she asked, and the small smile had reappeared on her face. "I simply remember what it was like, that's all. They don't want homework. They want an easier way to learn these things. It's a rare student who does not at least sometimes think that his or her teacher is the devil for assigning that reading at the end of class."

Amusement shined on Albus' face. "What about you, Minerva? Did you ever think I was the devil."

"I'd always have already finished the book by the time you got around to assigning me reading," she told him, pinning him with a rather dry matter-of-fact stare.

"But you always read it again after I assigned it, didn't you?"

The smile on Albus face as he spoke was huge. Minerva just shook her head and with a bit of difficulty repressed the urge to return a large grin of her own. She'd never quite managed to note how his good moods seemed to be infectious, especially to herself.

"Yes, I did," she responded, "and I enjoyed it too."

"I bet you did," he said. "Those who don't know you better must think you're a workaholic."

"Probably," she agreed, and she placed one of the forms on her desk along with a bottle of ink and a quill.

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"Not really," she said, sitting down at her desk and picking up her quill. "I enjoy relaxing far more if I've nothing hanging over my head. I find I can do nothing but think of what I should be doing."

"So I suppose that's why you are working now?"

"Correct. Now, if you don't mind, I would rather like you to leave. I can't concentrate with you standing there like that."

"Will you be working all evening?"

She quit writing and looked up at him. "No. Why?"

"I was hoping I could interest you in a game of chess," he told her. "We've not played since you were a student and I've learned more than a few new tricks which I would love to test on my favorite chess partner."

Minerva blushed slightly, then realizing that she was doing it, blushed more. He'd always been her favorite chess partner as well, though she'd played people who had more skill than he at other points in time. He had a very unique playing style, much as he had a very unique style in nearly everything.

"I should be done for the evening by about nine," she told him, concentrating on making the color disappear from her cheeks. "Would that be all right?"

"Very much so," said Albus with a smile. It was at least the fourth or fifth time he'd smiled in the past five minutes. Minerva idly wondered why it was she had never become so used to it that she became immune to its effects. "Why don't we meet in my office at nine then?"

"Sounds excellent," she told him from over her form. "Good-bye, Albus."

"I'll see you at dinner," he told her.

She heard him walk lightly out of the room, and the door close behind him. Finally, she could get some work done.


	24. As a Teacher: Talking

"She's a lot stricter than Dumbledore ever was."

"More organized too. Makes class run better."

"Less fun though," grumbled Ryan White, a fifth year Gryffindor. "Dumbledore used to make us all laugh and all. I don't think she's got a funny bone in her body. It'd poison her."

"Oh, be reasonable, Rye," said his friend Alicia. "She's not that bad. Ever seen the way her mouth twitches sometimes when she catches one of the Weasley brothers pulling a joke on ol' Pringle?"

"No," said Ryan sourly.

"Well, it does," said Alicia. "My dad said she went to school with him. Pringle was caretaker back then too. I bet she hates him too."

"Well, that's cause you can't not hate Pringle and be human," laughed a tall blonde boy by the name of Richard.

"Since when did we agree she's human?" asked Ryan.

"Oh, you just don't like her because she gave you detention."

"_And_ she took points from us!" Ryan retorted angrily. "What kind of Head of House does that? It's not right!"

"Dumbledore used to take points from us, too," Richard pointed out. "He didn't let us get away with anything either."

"He never took as many points away from us as she does," Ryan pressed. "He always used to give us these subtle little bits of help too. You could always tell he wanted us to win the House Cup . . ."

"McGonagall wants us to, too."

"I couldn't tell."

Richard sighed. There was no point in trying to change Ryan's mind. He was too stubborn for such things.

"At least she's hot," said Carl, who'd decided not to pursue a N.E.W.T. in transfigurations and dropped the class. He'd not had much to say up to that point, having had no reason to ever interact with Professor McGonagall.

"Eww," moaned Ryan. He made some very audit able gagging noises. "You can't be serious."

"I think she's very pretty," said Alicia.

Ryan began waving his arms as though if he did so enough he could physically stop his friends' words. "No, no, no. She's too . . . she's too uptight. That's not attractive at all. You try and approach a woman like that and she eats you for breakfast."

"I still think she looks nice," said Carl.

"Buns are not hot. Not at all."

"I betcha five galleons that Dumbledore doesn't mind them," remarked Richard with a small smile.

"Oh, God!" Ryan cried. "That's disgusting! Don't even say that!"

"Well, you've got to wonder," Richard pressed. "I mean, she never even taught here before now. Then all of the sudden she's our transfigurations teacher, Head of House and Deputy Headmistress. I mean, I'm not saying she's not good at her job, but how did she get it?"

"You think that Dumbledore appointed her because he's sleeping with her?" asked Carl incredulously.

"You shouldn't say things like that, Richard," Alicia scolded. "We've no good reason to think that. She's a great teacher and the school runs better now than it did before. Besides, it's just not nice."

"But what if it's true?"

"I'm sure it's not," said Carl. "From what I've heard you guys say, and from the changes I've seen in the school, it seems to me that she really deserves her job. Professor Dumbledore probably knew that. He did teach her as a student and all."

"All the more reason why we should stop talking like this. He's like a million years older than her. It's disgusting."

"Shut up, Ryan," snapped Richard sharply. He thought there really might be something to the idea that McGonagall and Dumbledore were having some secret affair. He wasn't the only one who thought so either. He'd heard other people talking the same way on occasion.

"Rye's right," said Alicia. "We shouldn't be talking about this. She's a very good teacher. It's rude."

"See? My two favorite words," said Ryan with a smug smile. "Now let's start talking about something that's not—hey, what's that?"

"Somebody's coming!" Alicia hissed, suddenly whispering.

"Shit!" snapped Richard quietly. "Wait . . . There's a secret passage behind the tapestry down the corridor! Mark Weasley showed it to me! Come on!"

The four took off as quickly as they could to the tapestry Richard had talked about. It was about five past nine o'clock and only prefects were allowed to still be out of their dormitories. If whoever was coming caught them, they'd all have detention.

They all piled in behind the tapestry, then stopped to keep from making any noise. In a couple of minutes whoever it was would be past and they could all escape to their dormitories for the night.

The clicking of boot heels on the stone floor grew louder and louder as whoever it was continued to walk briskly towards their location.

Ryan, by far the most curious and trouble-making member of the bunch, held up a single finger to his lips as the footsteps passed right in front of their tapestry, then stopped. Ryan, who had been reaching slowly for the edge of the tapestry to check and see who it was, stopped dead in his tracks. Silent prayers erupted in all of their heads. It was probably Pringle . . . and he'd have their heads for being out past when they should be, despite the fact that they were only out five minutes past when they should have been.

The tapestry was suddenly pulled back, and Ryan, Alicia, Richard and Carl were all revealed where they stood frozen to Professor McGonagall, who'd been on her way to the Headmaster's office to meet Albus for their planned game of chess.

"Curfew was five minute ago," she told them. "Now hurry back to your common rooms before I begin deducting points from both of your Houses."

"Yes, ma'am," said Carl, and the four of them hurried out from behind the tapestry and down the hall. They hung a left at an empty portrait of a wizard from the thirteenth century whose name none of them could ever quite remember and McGonagall disappeared from sight. They did not stop, however, not wanting her to come upon them again and find they were not doing as she had instructed.

They turned another corner together and Carl cast a quick glance over his shoulder to see if McGonagall was still out of sight. Seeing no trace of her, he broke the silence that would have reigned between he and his companions but for the sound of their hurried steps.

"You don't think she heard what we were talking about, do you?" he asked nervously.

"I hope not," Alicia worried. "Imagine how it would make her feel if she heard that!"

"That's assuming she feels at all."

"Ryan, that's awful!" scolded Alicia. "You shouldn't say those things. She's your Head of House! Have some respect."

"I agree," Carl seconded. "I'd never dream of talking about Professor Chantry the way either of you two talk about Professor McGonagall."

Ryan looked as though he was about to respond but Richard cut in instead.

"This is our turn. We'll see you guys in charms."

And with that the two took the indicated turn and separated from their companions.

"Hufflepuffs," Ryan muttered to himself, somewhat disgusted. What was it with them and respect, anyway?

/E/E/E/E/E/

Minerva was nearly to Albus' office when the sounds of voices drifted into her sharp ears. They weren't terribly close, perhaps two or three corridors away, but they were definitely there. It was probably a few students who'd lost track of the time and not noticed that curfew had just set in. She'd go send them to their common rooms, and then head over to Albus' office. Hopefully she would not be more than a few minutes late.

As she grew closer, the voices continued to become more clear and she was able to pick a few of the words they were saying. Including . . . her name and Albus's once or twice, as well! She quickened her pace. What were those kids saying?

" . . . Dumbledore appointed . . . sleeping with her?"

" . . . shouldn't say . . . we've no . . . great teacher . . . school . . . better now . . . not nice."

"But what . . . true?"

"I'm sure . . . From . . . I've heard . . . and . . . I've seen . . . school . . . she really . . . Professor Dumbledore . . . that . . . teach . . . student and . . ."

". . . more reason . . . stop talking . . . He's . . . million years . . . disgusting."

"Shut up, Ryan!"

". . . right. We shouldn't be . . . teacher. It's rude."

"See . . . favorite words. Now let's start talking about . . . hey, what's that?"

Then suddenly whoever it was that was lurking just down the corridor around the corner, suddenly began to whisper and Minerva could no longer make out what it was they were saying. Then she heard the sound of feet moving down the corridor and away from where she was. Obviously in her haste, she'd been too loud. They'd heard her and were now trying to get away and avoid trouble.

_They probably think I'm Pringle_, she thought with a slight bit of amusement. _Or perhaps that assistant of his, Mr. Filch. They think they're going to be hung by their ankles from the ceiling . . ._

She couldn't blame them for running. She would never forget the time Hermes and Dan had been caught by Pringle. They'd moaned about their strained and chaffed ankles for months. Minerva had only been glad that she'd had the sense to avoid breaking the rules. She certainly had not wanted to meet a similar fate.

_You shouldn't have scared them like that at all_, Minerva scolded herself. _It's five minutes past curfew, not a terrible infraction at all and eavesdropping is rude._

She could not believe she had stooped to doing such a thing . . . Though if they had been saying what she thought they had, then perhaps it had not been such a bad thing. Could they really think she was sleeping with Albus? Could she really out any stock in broken bits of conversation?

_Of course you can't_, she thought angrily. _You shouldn't have done it anyway. Now stop worrying about it! You'll begin to sound like your mother if you think like that!_

And with that idle thought, Minerva effectively banished it from her mind. She would most certainly do nothing that resembled any of her mother's behavior in the least. She was not the type to worry about every little thing. It did not matter what the students said about such things. Children were quite prone to such gossip. Muriel had always thought that Professors Rayce and Slughorn had been involved. She was quite wrong about that. According to Albus, Professor Rayce had preferred sharing her bed with other women.

Besides, it was the minority of students who believed such things in a serious manner anyway. Most of them simply thought it a funny thing to speculate about, but never really took it seriously. She never had.

She heard the footsteps of the students stop just ahead. Turning a corner, she came to the corridor where the sounds of her footsteps had told her that they had stopped. There was a secret passage down this hallway, hidden behind a tapestry. Dan Weasley had found it in his first year at the school and had no doubt imparted that knowledge to his sons when they started at Hogwarts. Between Mark, Roger and Arthur the entirety of Gryffindor probably knew about that passage now. That was where the students were hiding.

She pulled back the tapestry. There were more of them than she'd thought there were. She was thinking two or three, but standing there frozen in the secret passage, looking at her as though she was the definition of doom were Ryan White, Richard Vance, Alicia Duffield and Carl Bradley. It seemed as though Ryan had been ready to peek out from behind the tapestry after she'd passed them by. Of course, that had not happened. It was no wonder they looked so shocked.

"Curfew was five minute ago. Now hurry back to your common rooms before I begin deducting points from both of your Houses."

"Yes, Ma'am," said Carl in a voice that sounded, surprisingly, more polite than scared.

Then the four of them hurried out past her from behind the tapestry and down corridors towards their common rooms. Minerva watched them disappear around a corner, then turned around and headed back towards Albus' office. She was already late and she was confident that her students would do as they were told. She did not think that any of them, with Ryan being the possible exception, wanted to invite more trouble upon themselves after having gotten off easy.

She reached the statue of the gargoyle that hid the Headmaster's office and stopped in front of it.

"Licorice wand," she said, hardly able to keep herself from rolling her eyes. Albus had had the same password since he'd become Headmaster last December yet she still could not believe he'd chosen to use a candy rather than something more practical—or at least less childish and silly.

The gargoyle leapt aside, then in an odd showing that Minerva was certain Albus had inspired, bowed to her. She stared at it for a second, hardly noticing the moving stairwell that had appeared behind it.

_Someday I'm going to murder that man, and it will be very satisfying_, Minerva thought, as she tore her eyes from the now stationary gargoyle and stepped onto the stairs.

Reaching the top of the stairwell, she stepped off of it and knocked sharply on the door, then waited for Albus' reply. It came almost immediately, and she opened the door and let herself into the circular office. It seemed to her that Albus had acquired more odd spinning objects since she'd last been in his office.

Of course, those were nothing compared to the other new editions in his office. Albus must have been ignoring his mail for the past few weeks because there was an entire quarter of his office simply covered in letters.

"What's all of this?" she asked, eyeing the mountain of parchment warily. She wondered how long he'd left his mail alone. She didn't get that much mail in a week—no two or three weeks at least. He got a lot more mail than she did, she knew, but by exactly how much she was not sure.

"My mail," he answered simply. "I've been quite busy, and have not been able to get to it within the past couple of days."

"That's two days worth of mail?" she asked, raising a thin black eyebrow. Did people really get that much mail? Albus may have been a celebrity, but honestly. That was a bit much.

"Three days, actually."

Minerva stared at him for a moment. He wasn't joking. Merlin's beard, he actually wasn't joking. He really got that much mail in three days.

Not certain how she wanted to respond to that, she turned to the chess board set up between two very posh and loudly colored chairs. Albus' chessmen stood quietly on the board, waiting for Minerva to set up her pieces and for them to begin their game.

"Turn the board around Albus," she told him, eyeing the setting warily.

Albus shot her a confused look, then complied. "Of course. Why?"

"Because I want the orange chair."

The look of confusion on Albus' faced became suddenly more exaggerated and he quit moving the chess board. "What?"

"I want the orange chair," she told him calmly, placing herself in the chair in question. "If I'm sitting in it, then I don't have to look at it and I won't be getting a headache from it."

"That hurts, Minerva," he told her, as he began moving the chess board again. "That happens to be my favorite chair."

"Which explains the worn seat cushion. It's still ghastly, though."

Albus sniffed and refrained from comment as he set the chess board back down. Sitting, he spread his hands, indicating to Minerva that she should begin setting up her pieces.

She did, occasionally glancing at the large pile of mail sitting near Albus desk.

"How do you manage to deal with all of that?" she asked him.

He smiled. "With a lot of pre-drafted letters."

"Like?"

"Well, there's the polite 'solve your own problems' letter, there's the 'I'm sorry I'm not looking for a wife' letter, the 'I've already got enough stuff' letter and the 'Minerva's very competent' letter."

Minerva set down one of her pawns on the board. "People are still giving you trouble about appointing me?" She felt guilty about that, like she should be able to somehow keep that from happening. They were complaining about her, after all. She felt as though she should be able to control that, to keep Albus from having to deal with it. "I've not received anything."

"That would be my doing," said Albus, wearing an odd look that she could not identify. "You don't want to read those letters."

"Are they really that bad?" she asked.

"Some of them are a bit rude.'

Minerva knew Albus. She knew that was his way of saying that he knew she was a bit sensitive about some things and that some of the letters were rather harsh. She wasn't certain how to feel about that. On the one hand, it was very sweet of him to be so concern—something which made her feel uncomfortably warm and affectionate towards him. On the other, there was some thing a little insulting about him trying to protect her from such things. She was a groan woman and the second most powerful authority at the school. She was well able to handle a bit of animosity.

Then, of course, there was the actual animosity. She'd never been a particularly charismatic or winning person. She had friends, very good friends, but over all, she'd never felt particularly well liked in life. This was just a reminder of that.

Maybe Albus was right to keep those letters from her. It was a touching gesture and did she really need to put herself through reading nasty letters just to prove that she could? Wasn't she more mature than that? That was like something she would have done at fourteen, not now.

"Do you need any help with the other letters then?" she asked, thinking to distract them from the other uncomfortable line of conversation.

"That's quite all right, my dear," he said with a gentle smile. "You do quite enough work as it is. I'd feel horribly guilty giving you more."

How was it that within the space of five minutes he managed to inspire so many emotions in her? Just two seconds ago she'd not been able to decide if she loved him or was insulted by him. Now he showed her yet more concern, thinking of her own workload before even considering his. Why was he so considerate and why did she always have to take it as though it was something special he did for her? She knew that was not true and it only made her heart behave in ways she did not want it too, feeding its stupid fantasies.

She needed to get off the subject of his mail. It was far too taxing. She couldn't avoid him saying things that made her remember why she'd fallen in love with him when she was sixteen.

She looked down at the chessboard, ready to forget the entire thing and start talking about something new and safe. Amazingly enough, this turned out to be far easier than she would have previously thought.

"What are they doing?" she asked indicating both her own and Albus' chessmen.

"I believe they're hugging."

"Why?" she asked incredulously, staring.

"They have not seen each other in a very long time," said Albus with a smile and a shrug.

"You mean they haven't beaten the life out of one another in a long time," she responded, pursing her lips. "It doesn't make sense."

"Affection comes in many different forms."

Minerva snorted in a very unladylike manner. "That sounds like something a twelve year old would think."

"Maybe twelve year olds are wiser than you give them credit for," said Albus, his eyes twinkling in the most annoying manner.

"So says the man with the maturity of a twelve year old," Minerva commented crossly. She directed her attention to her chessmen. "All right, all right. You've greeted one another. Now, I'd like to play."

Her own chessmen saluted and returned to their positions.

"Now that's better," she said with the smallest of smiles. She looked up at Albus. "You're going down old man. Make your move."


	25. As a Teacher: Fights and Nobility

"Let us drink to a Slytherin victory, shall we?"

There was a soft chinking sound as two teacups hit one another and Professors Slughorn and Miggs both took a drink.

"Only with you do I ever make a toast with tea," Horace commented idly, taking another sip from the steaming cup.

"You know very well there are no champagne or wine or brandy leaves to use to decipher the future."

"That's why we have teas," Horace grinned. Sylvia Miggs had, like Horace, been a Slytherin back in her Hogwarts days and was terribly interested in seeing Slytherin win both the House and Quidditch Cups. So before every Slytherin quidditch match they would have tea together and she would read the leaves to see if she could glean any information about the upcoming match. She was usually right, though not through any actual ability to see the future. Sylvia was simply, in true Slytherin style, exceptionally good at playing the odds and had used that ability to gain herself quite a reputation as a seer. It was that reason that Horace had become acquainted with her.

"What are you thinking of?"

"Hmm?" asked Horace, looking up from his cup.

"Your face became thoughtful and I became curious. A look such as that one on you normally means you have either a brilliant plan to be set in motion or gossip to discuss."

"Ah."

"Well?"

"I was thinking of social gatherings between teachers."

"Like large ones, or ones this size?" asked Sylvia, dropping her normally airy manner to speak normally. She wasn't sure where Horace was going with this but she hoped it was something good.

"Ones this size."

"Okay. What about them?"

"I was just thinking, male and female staff members meeting together socially, it can give people some rather interesting ideas, can't it?"

"What?" she sputtered. "What are you talking about? You don't mean—"

"The Headmaster and his Deputy play chess together quite a bit, don't they?"

The frown on Sylvia's face quickly changed to a look of confusion as she realized he had not been implying what it had first sounded like. She'd kill those bratty students if she ever heard them talking about her in that manner. Any staff members would be even worse off (she was fond of children).

"Of course they do," she answered. "They've done that for years. Since she was a third year attending here. We both remember that."

Horace nodded. "I remember her begging off on a couple of Slug Club meetings over the years to place chess with him."

"Where exactly are you going with this, Horace? I'm not interested in making small talk about the Headmaster and his little pet."

Sylvia had never liked Minerva McGonagall. She still remembered back when she and that old boyfriend of hers, that Michael or Malcolm or Mitchell Kincaid boy would have loud discussions outside of her classroom about the 'woolliness' as they called it, of divination. Sylvia quite agreed, of course, she'd never met any real seers—including herself—but she made a very good living based on the fact that other people believed it. Arrogant people like those two were the bane of her very fine existence.

"Too bad. I've heard some people say some very interesting things about the two of them."

"Really?" she asked, not at all convinced.

"Some of the students are beginning to accuse them of being lovers."

Sylvia's reaction to this was not at all what Horace had expected. He'd not really expected anything in particular, but the divination teacher throwing her head back and laughing uproariously was not at all what he'd expected.

"What's so funny?" he asked, looking confused and perhaps a little angry.

"The idea of Albus Dumbledore having sex with Minerva McGonagall. It's the funniest thing I've heard all year."

"I don't get it," he said. "She's a very attractive girl and he defeated Grindelwald. You think either one of them wouldn't jump at the chance."

"You're making this _way_ too simple," said Sylvia, still laughing a little bit. "I'm quite certain they're attracted to each other. She is, I hate to say it, a very attractive girl. He'd have to be blind not to notice. As for her . . . Well, I've noticed her aura has been changing over the past month or two. It has not completed its change, and I can't tell you exactly what it means until it does, but it definitely means something."

Horace nodded, reading between the lines of what Sylvia was saying. He was quite aware that she was not a true seer and knew this was her was of saying she'd noticed a change about Professor McGonagall but she was not quite certain what it was.

"You never told me why the idea is so funny," he stated calmly. He thought it quite a likely union. It would be an incredible consolidation of power and intelligence and it was unlikely either of the two could find either of those traits in such large quantities in other people. There were few people better matched for either and it wasn't as though it was a relationship that would be mismatched in any other respects.

"I'd think that would be obvious," she said, and the laugh was back, tinging her voice. "Dumbledore is far too noble for it."

"Not as noble as you might think," Horace countered. "I've known him for years. He may have spent a lot of time amongst Victorian era Muggles, but I promise he's not nearly as chaste as they are. I can think of plenty of women he's slept with over the years."

Sylvia took another sip from her tea cup. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what do you mean?"

Sylvia set down her cup. "He may not have Victorian values, but can you even imagine a man like him sleeping with his former student? He's about eighty years older than he is and the friendship they share is began to form was she was twelve years old. I don't think he could do it and live with himself. He'd feel too guilty—like he'd taken advantage of her."

"I hadn't thought of that," he said, obviously surprised. "I've done it before."

"You and Dumbledore are very different men," Sylvia pointed out. "He's the type of man who leads the world with nobility and dignity, steering it toward doing what's right. You're more of a sidekick type, and far less concerned with things like nobility."

It was Horace's turn to laugh. "You are very right. Perhaps you're right about Albus too."

Sylvia was one of the most perceptive people he knew, other than Albus himself. It was one of the reasons she managed to pass herself off as a seer. She might be right. He would have to consider it.

"Of course I am," she stated, confidence evident in her voice as the airiness began to return to it. "I promise you, there's nothing going on between the Headmaster and his Deputy—despite the number of chess games they play together."

/E/E/E/E/E/

Minerva had been stuck in bed for about two days now, brought down by the flu that had been easing its way through the school since the beginning of the month. She hated it. She'd done her very best to avoid getting stuck in bed, but it had happened anyway. She'd come to breakfast one morning, looking, she had to admit, rather tired, pale and sickly, then Albus, as well as Amanda Chantry, Tyr Farron and Pomona Sprout, had sent her back to her rooms to recoup. She'd been in bed ever since.

It had been a trying past couple of days. She'd felt frustrated, and she'd rather have been teaching. She filled three positions at Hogwarts and that meant she had a lot of work to do. She didn't want to be lying around in bed, sick. She didn't feel she had the time to do it. She'd been secretly summoning work from her office the entire time.

She couldn't always be working or summoning work to do, however. The fact was that both were draining and at times she needed to sleep or rest. Albus and a few of her other colleagues had dropped by more than once to check on her, as well. On occasion she'd had to scramble to get what she was working on out of sight when she'd heard a knock on her door. She'd yet to be caught, however, and the visits had meant a lot to her—more than she would ever have admitted. Especially Albus' visits.

She'd had a lot of time to think over the past two days, and she'd come to a very important conclusion while doing that. In regards to Albus, she was back in the same place she'd been when she was sixteen years old. After only three and a half months, shed managed to fall in love with him again.

It wasn't surprising, really. She'd always been drawn to him. Even before she developed feelings when she'd started at Hogwarts a couple months before her twelfth birthday, she'd been drawn to him. He'd always had an amazing energy about him and she'd never been able to help but admire him. It hadn't hurt that he'd taught her best subject, either.

What was surprising, however, was how calm she was about her revelation. After she'd fought so hard against this, she'd failed spectacularly. Yet she was okay with that. She'd been here before, and she was comfortable with it. She'd lived with unrequited love for this man before, and she could continue to do so now. She was quite content to love him from a distance, and maybe someday she would be able to move past it. Today was certainly not that day.

A sigh escaped Minerva's pale lips. She should be working right now, not sitting around and thinking. She was feeling about as well as she had been over the past few days right now. She shouldn't waste that by just sitting around. She'd summoned some essays from her office earlier and stashed them when Amanda had come in to check on her. She should continue grading those.

"Now where did I put those essays?" she muttered to herself, getting up sitting up further in her bed and beginning to search for the wayward essays.

She found them poking out from where she'd neatly stuffed them under her coverlet.

"Here we go," she whispered to herself. Then getting out her quill and ink she set to work again.

She was not to be working for long, however.

"I thought so," she heard a very familiar voice say.

She looked to her right and saw Albus standing in her room, watching her with what she thought looked suspiciously like disapproval.

"I didn't hear you come in," she said in a voice so calm and precise it was quite nearly biting. "Shouldn't you have knocked."

"You have reflexes like a cat, my dear. If I was to catch you, you could not know I was here."

"You were simply watching me inside my rooms, invisible?" Minerva asked, and she could not keep all of the anger out of her voice.

"I assure you, had you begun to change or anything of the sort I would have left immediately."

There was a thin smile on Minerva's pale and tired face. "I appreciate that Albus—but I am absolutely appalled by you disrespect for the privacy of my personal chambers. What the bloody _hell_ were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that you were working when you should not be, and that you should be stopped," he answered calmly, seemingly unaffected by her anger.

"Whether or not I am working in here is none of your business," she spat. "I respect your right to confine me to my rooms while I'm contagious but you have no right to spy on me!"

"You're overworking yourself, Minerva," he told her, and there was a small note of pleading in his voice that Minerva did not notice. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? You're looking sicker and sicker every time I come in here."

Minerva wasn't sure whether or not Albus had known exactly what to say there, or had simply stumbled on it, but the fact of the matter was that he had in fact said the exact right thing. She'd felt her temper rising, ready to explode in a yelling fit that sick people should never be able to muster but his words had made her anger begin to fade. She was still mad, no mistake, but she was less mad than she had been. A sigh escaped her lips.

"I understand that you were worried about me, Albus, but you had no right to do this. I'm not fourteen years old and trying to sneak into your transfiguration class anymore. It's not your job to take care of me anymore. I assure you, I can do that myself."

Albus wanted very badly at that moment to confess his deep and abiding desire to gain back his old job of taking care of her. He wanted to tell her that he loved her desperately and that he was scared for her well being. The thought of actually doing it, however, never crossed his mind. He knew she felt the same way he did for her. He could see it when she looked at him, but there was simply no way they could engage in such a relationship. He was her employer and her old teacher. It simply was not an appropriate relationship. Confessing feelings like that would only make things harder for the both of them.

Instead he said simply, "I'm sorry, Minerva. You're right, of course."

"Well, good," she said. "Apology accepted. Now I would like it if you left."

Albus nodded and turned towards the door. He took a couple of steps, then stopped and turned back around. He couldn't leave like this, knowing she would go back to work and not allow herself to recover.

"Minerva, please, promise me you won't work when I leave."

Minerva raised an eyebrow at his words, clearly surprised. He continued anyway.

"If you're bored, then read or listen to music, but don't work. It's not good for you and it worries me to know that you're hurting your health by doing too much. I'm not the only one, either."

Minerva's residual anger was pushed to the back of her mind as an amusing thought reached her mind. "No doubt Mr. Farron predicted this was happening."

Albus smiled at her for the first time since he'd revealed himself to be in her room. "It's hard for any of us to forget the kind of patient you are after you so adequately demonstrated it after your quidditch accident."

She nodded silently, staring off into space, thinking about what he'd said. He was only worried about her after all. If not working would ease his mind, then perhaps it was not too big of a sacrifice. It did make her heart sing to hear him expressing such concern for her.

"All right," she agreed. "I won't."

The smile on Albus face was breathtaking. She did not allow it to distract her, though. There was more to it than this.

"But I want you to promise me something, too."

"What is that?"

"That you will never pull a stunt like this again," she told him calmly, a small from permeating her features. She was still quite upset about what had just occurred.

"I promise," he told her in a serious tone that she rarely heard. "You're right, Minerva. I was out of line. Now I'll leave you to rest."

He turned to leave.

"If you ever break this promise, Albus, I'll quit. I meant that."

His head turned. "I know, my dear. Rest well."

/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/

Author's Note:

Well, I've now officially been torturing all of you for 25 chapters, as there has not been so much as one kiss. This is my ironclad promise, however, that within the next three chapters, you all will get your kiss. Just don't expect happily ever after quite yet.


	26. As a Teacher: Victory Celebrations

It had been many years since Albus had seen a Hogwarts quidditch game go on for so long. Dusk was beginning to fall and the entire school—well quite nearly the entire school—was still out at the quidditch pitch watching the final match of the year: Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. They were the top two teams in the running for the Quidditch Cup. Whoever won this match, won the cup.

Currently, Ravenclaw was in the lead and though she tried to hide it Albus could see that Minerva was nervous about the match's outcome. She was still quite crazy about quidditch and a Gryffindor loss would a terrible loss as far as she was concerned. It was just as important to her now as it had been when she was on the team herself—and it was still a very clear memory to him exactly how important it had been to her then.

He had to admit, however, as he watched a Gryffindor chaser steal the quaffle right out from under Ravenclaw's nose, he was quite interested in seeing Gryffindor win as well. He was certain he hid it better than dear Minerva did but one's house loyalties died hard. He could not cheer for Gryffindor publically anymore, as Hogwarts' headmaster, but inwardly he would still be terribly disappointed to see them lose. They were so close to the Cup. They were tied with Ravenclaw in the running.

Minerva made a low groan as the Ravenclaw keeper made a spectacular save. Ravenclaw was still ahead seventy to thirty. Her students were losing. What this match would really come down to was who caught the snitch—and the winged golden orb had been quite elusive all game.

The Ravenclaw keeper sent the quaffle whizzing past two of the Gryffindor chasers and into the hands of one of her own chasers. He tucked the red ball securely under his arm and turned quickly to speed towards Gryffindor's goalposts. Not ten seconds later, however, he found himself swerving swiftly to avoid a bludger sent straight into his path, courtesy of Mark Weasley. The quaffle slipped from his grasp and one of Gryffindor's own chasers, Jack Prewitt, swept it up and began moving it back across the field.

A few nice, neat tosses between Gryffindor chasers followed, but the Ravenclaws, not to be outdone, soon plucked the ball away and began passing it down the field in the opposite direction yet again.

The entire game had been proceeding like this. Rarely did anyone get the chance to try for a goal and yet more rarely was one made. They'd all been sitting in stands by the quidditch pitch for hours, soaking in the warm spring weather.

A hum began to run through the crowd. People began to stand. It seemed that the snitch had been spotted . . .

But not two minutes later everyone was again in their seats. The Ravenclaw seeker had just been trying to see if he could fool the Gryffindor seeker. The snitch was still hiding somewhere around the pitch, waiting to be spotted and caught.

Minerva and Albus, took their seats at nearly the same times. He, near the top of the stands in the seat with the best view, and she near the student commentator, whom she'd been making sure stayed in line all game. Minerva had a particular hatred of biased commentators, no matter whose side they were on. It violated her principles. It was her opinion that a person should strive to be as fair as possible—something she held to quite closely.

Ravenclaw chasers took her penalty shots—all of which were blocked by Gryffindor's keeper—Minerva gave him a silent pat on the back. It may have been a slightly illegal move, but the benefits had outweighed the risks and it was her opinion that rules could be bent a little for quidditch. She certainly done so, on occasion, and would likely do so again at more than one point in time.

Even as the second shot was being blocked, however, the Gryffindor seeker, Eros Markman, went into a sharp dive. He dropped downward like a rock, cutting through the air easily, just the way his father, Minerva's old friend Hermes had. Having seen him play in a number of practices and in two games now, Minerva had determined that he was not quite the seeker his father had been, but that he was quite talented. The fact that he had spotted the snitch first gave her high, but cautious, hopes of a Gryffindor win.

As though it sensed that it had been spotted, the snitch made a quick left and moved quickly away from the two seekers chasing it. Up, down, left, right, and every which way it flew, trying desperately to escape the hands reaching for it. It circled the Ravenclaw goalposts quickly and both Eros and Ravenclaw's seeker skimmed near to the tall post in their pursuit of it. It took a sharp dive then darted quickly towards the stands, flying as fast as it could over the heads of the breathless crowd.

Albus watched intently as it pulled away from the stands and back over the field. The field was growing darker by the second. The worry that the snitch might disappear into the darkness and the match drag on for hours more was a very real one. He hoped the snitch did not get away, though not as much as he hoped for a Gryffindor victory. He would rather see the snitch slip into the darkness.

And so would Minerva, he was certain.

The snitch nearly grazed Roger Weasley's ear as it passed by him and it was evident to those watching that it was a struggle to him not to simply catch the snitch himself, but the penalty from doing that would lose them the game and so he did not.

On nothing better than instinct, in that moment Eros made a sharp swerve, putting himself but three feet in front of Minerva and the game's commentator as well as into the direct path of the snitch. The snitch swerved to get away, but Eros caught it anyway and held it up to the crowd in victory as its silvery wings still struggled against his fingers.

It was a marvelous win for Gryffindor and Albus could see a large smile on Minerva's face because of it. He wasn't sure which occurrence he was more pleased about. Minerva did not often smile like that.

/E/E/E/E/E/

"Minerva, do you intend to let them celebrate all night?"

"Yes, I do," she answered, sipping on the hot chocolate he'd convinced her to indulge in for Gryffindor's win. "Classes are not in session tomorrow, and they've earned it. They can sleep tomorrow."

Albus looked thoughtful and Minerva quirked an eyebrow at him.

"What is it? You cannot possibly be surprised that I would let them."

"Not at all," he answered. "I seem to remember that you used to indulge in such celebrations yourself as a student. It's not unsurprising that your opinion on the matter would not have changed."

"Then what is it?" she asked, feeling slightly annoyed that he had not just simply answered the question the first time.

"How would you feel about engaging in an all night celebration yourself?"

"I'm sorry?" she asked, a little bit surprised. Her mind reeled with the implications of that statement and wondered if her lovesick imagination had just stuck them there of its own accord. He could not possibly be asking her what she thought he was.

"Well, there aren't many of us, but there are more than a few of us old Gryffindors in this school. What would you say to a gathering down at Rosmerta's pub in celebration?"

There, she'd been right. He'd not been making any implications that leaned toward the romantic. She was just being silly. Why did love always make people silly—make them think and act illogically?

She kept her composure, however, and none of her twinge of disappointment so much as flickered across her face. "Are you certain it's wise for the Headmaster to be celebrating a Gryffindor victory? It could be seen as biased."

"What's biased about an outing with friends?" Albus asked and his eyes were twinkling mischievously. "And even if it were biased, it's late. I doubt anyone will see us and I'm sure we all know how to keep from mentioning such things to others."

Minerva's eyebrows were raised disapprovingly. "That's not exactly honest."

"Nor is it dishonest, Minerva. Besides, who will ever know to care?"

"I will," she answered, and her lips thinned perceptibly. "Do you take this attitude about all things?"

"Not at all," he answered. "But I do think that in some cases rules are meant to be bent a little."

"And what of broken?"

"That too."

She glared at him in disapproval. "I imagine you were a very difficult child, Albus."

"I was an angel compared to Aberforth."

"I imagine that was because he was simply doing what his older brother directed him to do, or am I off the mark?"

"He would embellish such instructions as well."

Minerva gave a curt nod. "I see."

"So are you coming?"

"Does it matter if I do?"

Minerva was more than a little surprised when Albus actually looked hurt by what she'd said. "Of course. Where's the point of celebrating our old House's win without you? It would be incomplete."

Touched, Minerva actually found herself leaning towards going. She did not like the idea of risking Albus' reputation as Headmaster, however. It violated her sense of rules and duty.

_Oh, just go, Minerva_, she thought to herself. _You're letting your students bend a few rules tonight. What's the harm if you go outside what should strictly be considered proper yourself?_

"You're a bad influence on me," she answered, scowling at him as she grabbed her cloak from its stand near the doorway.

"Excellent. Come, the others are already waiting for us."

_That bastard knew I would agree all along_, she thought sourly as he dragged her out of her chambers and down to the entrance hall. _The nerve of him!_

She could not deny, however, that she was glad she had gone.


	27. As a Teacher: Goodbye and Hello

Author's Notes:

I'm sorry this has taken so long but my Internet was out for about the past week and I've only just now gotten it back! Anyway, I'm sorry for the wait and hopefully it will not happen again (let's all cross our fingers, shall we?). In any event, without further ado, the chapter I am certain you have all been waiting for.

/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/

"You're leaving then?"

Minerva nodded at him. "I'll be back in exactly two months—unless you need me back sooner?"

Albus laughed. "No, no, Minerva. Enjoy your vacation. Work can wait."

She took a quick step toward him. "Are you certain? There's an awful lot to be done for the start of a new year. I wouldn't mind cutting my vacation a little bit short if it would make things easier."

Or if it would bring her back to him sooner. She'd been growing accustomed to seeing him again and she did not want to leave him. She would miss him terribly. It was like she was sixteen again. This was stupid. It made no sense. Shouldn't a time span of over fifteen years make more of a difference with such things?

Perhaps not.

"I'm certain, Minerva."

She wished he wouldn't say that. She wished he would say he needed her to stay here the entire summer and work with him to make preparations for the coming year.

Then again she also wished he would declare his undying love for her and whisk her away into the sunset but that was not going to happen either. She needed to be realistic. Being realistic was what kept her sane.

"All right," she answered, and the corner of her mouth twitched slowly as she held in a sad smile. "I'll see you then. Goodbye, Albus."

"Goodbye, Minerva," he responded, not missing the way the corner of her mouth was moving. He moved toward her and pulled her into a quick, though slightly awkward hug. "Have fun."

He let her go and she nodded at him, then moved out of his office rather quickly. He could not blame her. He knew she was struggling with emotions of her own. She did not want to leave him just as much as he did not want her to leave.

Why were such things necessities?

_Why do you never tell her that you love her? Because it's simply not a plausible thing to do, just as asking her to stay with no good reason for doing so is not plausible. Now let it go._

Yet he did not.

/E/E/E/E/E/

She was here again. She was standing not three feet in front of him and now more so than ever, he could not go to her.

Voldemort. He'd been hearing that name all summer. He'd been hearing growing whispers of the name 'Lord Voldemort' all summer. The name had been connected to horrible Muggle killings and a number of other crimes. It was a name that was beginning to spread a quiet fear amongst those it encountered.

Then the man connected to that name, the once Tom Riddle had come to Hogwarts, asking to take over the Defense Against the Dark Arts position for reasons Albus knew were beneficial to no one but himself. Riddle had, even as a child, been insidious and not to be trusted and now . . .

Things had changed about Riddle. He had grown in many different ways. He'd grown in power, he'd changed in appearance—he seemed to be gaining everything but those things that really mattered in a person, like compassion.

He'd become far more dangerous than Albus cared for. He wished he'd kept a closer eye on the man over the years. He'd been keeping some tabs on him, of course, but up until recently Tom Riddle had all but disappeared—

And now that he'd returned as Lord Voldemort, he was in the beginnings of something that Albus could not quite determine. He did not know exactly what his undeniably talented former student was planning but whatever it was he was certain that it was was something he did not like, and it would bring misery to others.

Including Minerva. She'd been the first thing he'd thought of when his fears of a rising evil had first begun to take hold. He had to protect her from that. He loved her and he would protect her from everything he possibly could—which, unfortunately (he felt a chill in his chest at the thought), included himself. Riddle hated him. He always had, and Albus had no doubt that that hatred would continue to grow. He had never stood for Riddle and his behavior when he'd taught him, and now that his actions were becoming even more dangerous he would have to do yet more against him. Riddle would undoubtably know that—just as he undoubtably knew of Albus' rather considerable magical power, and he would act accordingly.

In the darkness that Tom Riddle would undoubtably bring, Albus knew that he would be especially targeted, as would anyone close to him. Out of his all of his enemies, of which there were more than a few, this one had begun to emerge. He could not put Minerva in a position to be hurt, simply because of him. He cared for her far too much for that.

As much as he'd missed her, as much as he wanted right now to simply take her close and never let her go—to cherish her as much as he possibly could before the darkness came, he knew that it was a selfish idea. He could put her life in danger by doing that. There were some things that were more important than the desires of one's heart.

"My God, Albus, what have you been doing to your office while I was away?"

Albus was snapped quickly from the murky depths of his thoughts and longings as her clear, even voice swept through his office.

"What do you mean?" he asked, stepping closer to her, so he might see exactly what she was indicating. He thought his office looked rather neat, actually. He'd tried, admittedly somewhat hastily, to neaten his office before she returned. Obviously he had not been entirely successful, but he was somewhat amused by the fact that he had not managed to affect her reaction in the least. While his office was likely the neatest it had ever been when he personally had cleaned it, she still thought it a mess. She, and he for that matter, was far too used to the neatness (to a degree at least) which his office held while she was around to keep it in line.

"You've things springing out of your desk drawers, and there are stacks of books everywhere—don't you understand the concept of a bookshelf?"

"I do," he answered. "I was doing some research."

"And that means you couldn't put your books away?" she asked, carefully picking up a worn old book from atop one of the stacks.

"When I get involved in things I do have a tendency to forget about everything else—especially house-keeping. I'm afraid that when I start a project I generally become somewhat consumed by it."

Minerva turned back around to face him, showing him briefly an indulgent smile. "Such is the working of many great minds, I suspect." A small sigh escaped her lips—which seemed to be redder than was usual, Albus noted. Was she wearing—dare he think it of her?—lipstick? Minerva was not one who usually wore lipstick. She barely wore make-up, if she in fact wore any at all (it was hard to tell, after all), yet she did seem to be wearing a rather red, though quite attractive, shade of lipstick. He examined her face carefully. Yes, she was in fact wearing lipstick, along with some other subtle hints of color which he had never noticed before and assumed to be make-up. Why would she be doing that? Why at all and why today? To impress him? It seemed so. What an utterly enticing idea.

"How do you want these organized? By subject, title or author?"

Even as in the back of his mind, Albus continued down the train of thought that Minerva's introduction of a small thing like lipstick has caused, the rest of his mind snapped to attention. He might have had the tendency to become absorbed in something to the point that he ignored all else, but he also had a great capacity to multitask.

"Minerva, you don't have too—"

"I'm not doing this for you," she told him pointedly. "I'm doing this for me. The state of your office is driving me quietly mad."

A small smile rose to Albus' lips. That was Minerva for you. She never could stand to see anything out of place. It was nice to see that some things did not change, no matter how he worried. Minerva was still Minerva, the woman who's stolen his heart. The rise of the name and deeds of Voldemort—Tom Riddle—had cause an irrational fear in him over that. The knowledge that the world could be turned upside down the way it had with Grindelwald had made him worry in a way that even not having seen Minerva in years—and not having seen time bring any changes they might—had not.

Yet here he could plainly see that those fears—silly as he'd constantly told himself they were—were unfounded. Minerva was still Minerva—would always be Minerva—and oh, how he'd missed her.

"Are you going to answer me or will you allow your mind to continue wandering down whatever path your research no doubt started you on?"

How wrong she was about what he was thinking of. His thoughts were occupied by far more serious things than research. Tom Riddle and the name Voldemort and dark wizards and . . . her.

"I'm contemplating what the most convenient arrangement would be," he told her, not completely lying, as that was what her words had made him mind begin to contemplate.

"Well, I personally arrange mine by author—but that requires me to either know the writer of all of my books for ease of reference, or a catalogue. I do the latter. I assume, however, that you would not want to be bothered by such a thing?"

Even when she had the most practical and serious of looks on her face, Albus thought, she was a sight for sore eyes. Her face had to be the most pleasant thing he'd laid eyes on since reports of Tom's crimes had begun to trickle in during mid-July.

The rest of his mind focused, though not completely. When Minerva was around it seemed that his mind, so accustomed to doing a million and one things all at once, only wanted to focus on her.

"A catalogue would be most inconvenient," he replied. He paused for a moment, thinking of his thought processes usually unfolded when he wished to begin researching something. If the organization system could mimic his thought processes, messy as they were, to a degree then that would likely work best.

"By subject, I think, would be best."

"Excellent. Now I will just have to figure out what all of these are about. I hope they all have indexes," and here she shot him a rather harsh look, as though she would blame him personally if any of his books did not possess an index. She was joking, he knew—or at least, he was fairly certain she was. It was always hard to tell with Minerva.

He caught sight of a small flicker of joking in her hazel eyes and knew he was right. Knowing the woman for years counted for something.

"If not, I should be able to tell you what each book is about with relative ease. I've read all of them at least once."

"Do you remember all of them?" Minerva asked, casting a casual look around at all of the books sitting in piles on the floor and the few of them that still remained on the bookshelves.

"Mostly," he answered with a nod.

Minerva gave a silent nod of her own in acknowledgment, then returned her attention to the books. "Well, if we're going to be completely rearranging these, then we'd might as well get the remainder of them off the shelves."

"I'll help you."

"Thank you," she said, beginning to pull novels of varying ages and subject from the shelves, on occasion pausing to glance at one. "How were these arranged before you pulled them all down anyway?"

"By however they would fit."

Minerva gave a less than lady-like snort, then continued to pull books from the shelves and into the pile in her arms. Finding she could no longer hold any more of the rather weighty object she set the pile down near her and moved over a bit to continue working. Not three books were in her arms, however, when she began to notice the annoying presence of a long arm clad in a light blue sleeve also pulling books off of the shelf.

She tried to ignore it, knowing that with both she and Albus working, the books should be coming off the shelf faster.

_Not if he keeps impeding my movement, they aren't_, she thought crossly as Albus arm _Not if he keeps impeding my movement, they aren't_, she thought crossly as Albus arm absent-mindedly blocked hers as she reached for another book.

"I swear Albus, you are more of a hindrance than a—" But she found her mouth no longer able to form words when she turned to look at him. When had they gotten so close to one another? Albus had her not quite cornered against the bookshelf with his body and she was suddenly at a loss for words.

He looked down at her, not speaking and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. He was so very close right now, barely an inch from her and was simply _staring_ into his eyes. She could not look away—and oddly enough she did not think he could either. There was something in those brilliant blue eyes that was . . . different. There was something in them that she was certain she never seen in them before and was hesitant to put a name to.

Neither could be quite certain how long they stood like that, staring into the eyes of the other, frozen with their bodies not quite touching and their breath intermingling. Tension filled the room, making the air thick and stagnant.

Then suddenly, like a spark, they kissed. Whether it was she who kissed him, or he who kissed her, neither could say but kiss they did. Slowly at first, exploring and savoring a sudden new sensation but then with continued intensity as that first spark lit a fire with both of them.

The books Minerva had been holding slipped quietly from her arms, barely missing both his and her feet as two very ancient volume hit the floor with two soft thuds. Freed, her arms sought their way about Albus lean frame, pulling her closer to him as she found that her fantasy had suddenly become a reality.

Alerted by the sudden noise of the books dropping, the portraits of the old Headmasters and Headmistresses woke from their faked slumber and found themselves staring at the couple next to the bookshelf. They whispered quietly to themselves, rushing about in their portraits and pointing at the unusual display before them.

To caught up in one another to notice the sudden, yet surprisingly quiet, activity of the portraits that filled Albus' office, Albus pushed Minerva up against the nearly empty bookcase behind them and began trailing warm kisses down Minerva's neck. She could feel his warm breath in her ear as he pushed aside the collar of her pale green summer robes and granted himself access to her shoulder and collar bone. She exhaled slowly, a soft moan bubbling quietly though her breath and he continued on, pleased by her reaction.

As she found the sharpness of the bookshelves pressing into her back, an unpleasant distraction from what Albus was doing, Minerva managed to find the breath to suggest to Albus that they move themselves to a more comfortable location. Without a response or a single pure thought in his head, Albus lifted her silently and moved her quickly to his private chambers where he had a large bed that had been far too for far too long. His body had been aching at him to fix that for longer than he cared to think about—and so he did.


	28. As a Teacher: Dangerous

As gently as he possibly could, trying to not wake the lightest of sleepers, Albus pushed a lock of long, dark hair behind Minerva's ear to keep it from obstructing his view of her face. He was not certain how long he'd been awake. He dared not turn to look at watch or clock for fear of waking the woman who slept peacefully in his arms. Instead he simply looked at her, taking in a sight he was certain he would never see again.

Guilt flooded his mind. What had he done? He knew perfectly what, of course, but that did not lessen his horror at such a dramatic loss of control. How could he have done this to her when he claimed to love her and have no desire in his heart other than to protect her? He could not become involved with her. He knew that. Yet look at what he'd allowed himself to do.

_You're only human_, the little voice in the back of his head told him.

Well, that was simply unacceptable. He may be only human and therefore unable to be certain he could adequately protect her but that fact should not also be the cause of her pain.

Yet it would be. He knew it just as certainly as he knew he loved her. When she woke he would have to tell her that despite what had just happened and all of the things he'd told her, they could not be together and they could not let last night's events ever reoccur. It was simply too dangerous. He would be able to live with himself even less than he could now if she ended up dead because of him. It was that which drove him to not simply spare the both of them and continue down the path they were on.

He hoped she would understand. She was a reasonable person, so it was not entirely unlikely, but she could also be a very emotional one at times as well and she would by hurt. Because of him. She would be hurt because of him. God, he'd never meant for any of this to happen. He'd hoped to keep her peacefully ignorant of his feelings in the hope that—as painful as it would be for him—she would give up on him and move one to someone else who could make her happy. Now, by admitting his feelings, he'd probably just made that ten times harder for her.

Assuming that she didn't hate him after today. He hoped she would not. As selfish as it was, he needed her. She was his right hand, his trusted second and more than that he valued her presence. He did not want to lose her completely.

He'd never meant for any of this to happen.

As Albus had discovered that she was apt to do, Minerva squirmed a bit in her sleep, turning away from him but remaining near him with her own arms pressing his to her. She, like most people really, appeared quite peaceful in her sleep. Her face was relaxed and a small smile, so rare in her waking state, rested securely on her lips. An urge to kiss her forehead, brought on by the pleasant sight, came upon him but it was ignored. An action like that would certainly wake her, and that was the last thing he wanted. This was both the first and last time that he would have her here like this and he intended to savor it. Moreover, he wanted to postpone having to tell her the inevitable as long as possible.

They stayed like that, she sleeping secure and unaware in his arms and he doing his best tp take in all he could, for a long time. It could not last forever, however, and eventually Minerva stirred into wakefulness.

A pair of soft lips brushed his and Albus found himself unwittingly returning the gesture, momentarily forgetting his misgivings just as he had the night before when they'd . . .

His misgivings returned quickly enough and using as much willpower as he possessed, he broke the quickly turned passionate kiss.

"Minerva . . ."

"Hmm?" she asked, pressing herself comfortably to his chest. He was very aware of the fact that she was still wearing not a strip of clothing and his heart pounded.

All he really wanted to do was kiss her again and make the morning, an ironically sunny and beautiful one to his eyes, a continuance of the night before and forget this insanity of giving her up. That wasn't possible. He would never forgive himself for doing that, just as he would never forgive himself for putting them both into the situation they were in now.

"I'm sorry."

The contentedness which had been radiating from Minerva even as she'd slept snapped like a brittle twig and suddenly the entire atmosphere of the room changed.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated quietly. "I should never have allowed this to happen. I let my heart run away with me."

He had never seem anyone look as confused and hurt as Minerva did right then and his heart shattered to see it. He should have known better—he did know better. His guilt doubled. She suddenly seemed very young to him—and, God, she was! Suddenly he saw and felt every year of the seventy-five year difference in their ages.

"I don't understand."

Of course she didn't understand. How could she? He barely did right now?

"Minerva, do you remember a boy who came to this school the same year you graduated, a Slytherin by the name of Tom Riddle?"

Minerva's manner shifted drastically, suddenly fiery and mad rather than vulnerable and confused. Seeing that, Albus knew he had mis-stepped. Despite that, he preferred that she be mad at him. It was far more Minerva, and frankly made the ache in his heart ease, if only a little, to know she'd not been broken.

"Albus, what kind of—"

"He's been killing people, Minerva. He's been killing Muggles and our own kind as well—those who he feels have tainted blood or like Muggles too much. He's taken a new name and I believe that he is a threat. A small one right now, but a growing one as well."

Minerva could not see what this had to do with Albus taking advantage of her. Tom Riddle was utterly irrelevant and the fact that Albus would try and pretend that he was relevant just made her temper double. Albus was a lecherous old man, and she told him so.

Desperate to salvage as much of any relationship with her as he could, Albus moved toward her, grabbing her shoulders and looking into her angry green eyes. "Minerva, I meant everything I told you last night. I love you, and I have for years now." He swallowed hard, willing himself to continue. "And that is exactly why I am sorry for all of this and why I'm speaking of Tom Riddle."

He could see her anger burning higher and hurried to continue.

"He came here. He was applying for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. He was quite mad about it when he did not get the job and I believe he's added that to his list of grudges against me. He's _dangerous_ and I've no doubt he will continue to become more so. I can't risk your life, Minerva. I love you too much for that and that is what would happen if I were to allow myself to continue involvement with you. Tom might see you as a way to hurt someone who stands against him. It's too dangerous."

Minerva could not listen to him anymore. What he was saying sounded good but she was either too hurt or too angry to listen any more and she could not decide which. Either way, it did not change any thing. She had to go. She couldn't stand to stay. She just wanted to go to her room and cry from hurt or anger, whichever it was.

She pulled herself from his grasp and grabbed her robes from the floor. She put them on as quickly sd she could manage and fled from Albus' chambers to her own. Albus, feeling defeated and unsure of what to do for the first time in many years, did nothing but watch her as she left. He could only hope that if given some time she would understand.

/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/

Author's Note:

I'm thinking many of you are probably none to pleased with me right now, but it will all work out in the end. Whenever that comes.


	29. As a Teacher: Wall of Ice

Albus had begun to dread mealtimes. Minerva had been avoiding him but for when their work demanded she see him, but at least then she spoke to him, however curtly. At meals, she would ignore him, and as often as she could discreetly allow, she would not show up for meals at all. It was almost, though not quite, preferable when she did not come. At any meal she was at, he felt as though he were sitting next to a wall of ice rather than a woman whom he, if not others, would normally identify as charming and warm. It was a painful difference.

He hoped that time would bring her around, perhaps not enough to make her forgive him, but at least enough for her to speak to him and thus allow him the chance to make up to her what had happened as best her could. He still clung to that hope. After all, at times hope was all a person had. When Grindelwald had attacked the castle all those years ago that had been the case, or at least it had seemed so, and hope had prevailed. Still a corner of his mind moaned at himthat he'd irrevocably ruined everything he and Minerva had ever shared with one another.

He fought that part of his mind. Minerva was sensible. He knew this and lover her for it. Her sensibility would prevail here and she would come around at least a little bit. It would simply take time for her sensibility to overcome her particularly strong, and not unjustified, emotions regarding this.

Watching her as she quickly and precisely cut her food and ate it, seemingly oblivious to his existence and if he was not mistaken faster than usual, how much time it would take her sensibility to take hold over her. He also had to wonder what it was that she was feeling right now, other than the obvious answer of something negative directed at him. Ignoring him the way she had seemed to have closed his window in her thoughts and emotions. Normally he read her, like most people, with relative ease but now he simply could not. Consciously or unconsciously, the result of her cold shoulder, she had disabled his ability to read her. It was very disturbing to him. It was like . . .

Like he didn't know her at all. Like he never had.

And he hated it.

/E/E/E/E/E/

Sometimes thinking about Albus made Minerva almost sick with anger. Literally almost sick. Other times he made her so confused that she was dizzy with it—again in a somewhat literal fashion. Yet other times she understood and accepted what he'd done—then she would go right back to hating him or being immensely confused by him. More often than not she hated him for it, but even so she could not seem to truly settle on how she felt about him and the entire affair. She'd been swinging back and forth, somewhat erratically at times, from one emotion to the next for weeks now.

Unable to decide how she felt about him, Minerva had been avoiding Albus ever since that morning that morning he'd told her they could not be lovers. She didn't want to be around him. It just confused her feelings more. Moreover, she was more often mad at him than any of the others, not always sick with anger, but pretty damn irate and when she encountered him in this state—which was how she normally encountered him, rarely did she meet him when feeling confused and never when understanding—she found she had a hard time being civil too him. Thoughts like _he wasn't civil to you_ simply crossed her mind too often at those times for that. She did it, but it was hard. Harder than she would have imagined it to be, really. It was a good thing that she was not the sort of person who simply reacted without thought to everything she felt.

If she were, the way her opinions of Albus shifted so dramatically from one moment to the next, she wasn't certain what she would have done. Luckily, she was more controlled than that, even if the fact that the issue was as deep and emotional as it was eroded that to a degree.

At least it was easy enough to avoid Albus. The school year had started back up again she was plenty busy. Especially with her first years—James Potter and Sirius Black (who, amazingly enough, had not been made a Slytherin) were both quite charming and utterly unmanageable. She'd never seen two boys capable of more trouble, and even worse was the fact that the two were so clever. Hogwarts had been in session for five weeks and already they'd proved their "pranks" to be of the highest caliber. Even she thought that some of them were quite good. Just this week they'd managed to make quite a lot of trouble for Apollyon Pringle and his assistant by leaving a muddy mess in the entrance hall—a regenerating one at that, which was quite good for a couple of first years. Even Minerva, neat freak that she was, appreciated that one. Not that Potter or Black would ever hear about that. She had enough trouble trying to keep them in line as it was. She might well be forced to speak with Albus about their behavior before long.

She hated it when her thoughts returned to Albus. It was distracting and annoying. Whenever it happened she found that suddenly all she could focus on was how _angry_ she was with him and it began making her sick again.

So she quickly got up from her desk and made her way hastily to her bathroom.

/E/E/E/E/E/

"Minerva?"

"Yes?" Minerva turned to face Amanda Chantry, whom she'd passed on the way back to her rooms.

"Where are you going? Dinner starts in ten minutes."

"I wasn't planning on attending today."

The middle-aged blonde witch sighed., then pinned Minerva with a worried stare. "You've been skipping meals far more often than usual lately. Are you feeling well?"

Minerva blinked rapidly in surprise. She hadn't thought anyone had noticed. She should have known better.

"I . . ."She didn't want to lie to Amanda. There was not a sweeter person in existence. She wasn't feeling entirely well right now, and she'd not been for a little while, but that was not why she was skipping dinner and she didn't really feel like explaining why she was. It would lead to a lot of awkward questions.

"I've been working," she told her truthfully.

A very dryly annoyed, but patient, look appeared on Amanda's face. "You should eat. There's time to work later."

"I'm really not hungry."

"You're not feeling well are you?"

Being asked directly, Minerva could not lie to Amanda. "Not right now, but I'll probably feel fine in a bit. It's . . . it's stress."

"And going to your office to work is going to help you?"

Minerva faked a small smile. "It won't last long. I'll be fine by later tonight. I may even come in to eat in the middle of dinner, hungry."

"You should come to dinner. Eating will help," Amanda told her, obviously not believing Minerva as she made light of the situation. Too bad, because she'd actually meant it. She probably would be feeling fine and hungry later.

"I'd rather—"

"You should take better care of yourself," Amanda told her pointedly and Minerva began wondering when she'd asked for a second mother. She rebuked herself sharply for the thought. It was not a bad thing to have people concerned for your well-being.

"I do take care of myself. It's not like I'm starving myself. Quite the opposite, I assure you."

"I meant that you shouldn't overwork yourself."

Why did everyone always think she was overworking herself? Was there not one person in the entire magical community who understood the concept of work being relaxing to a person?

"I don't."

Perhaps Amanda saw the annoyance in Minerva's eyes, perhaps not, but she did not push the subject any further. "You should still come and eat."

"Does this mean you will leave me alone about it later?"

"Sure."

"Fine then."


	30. As a Teacher: Unexpected

"Albus, I need to speak with you."

It was the first time that Minerva had spoken to him about anything other than work since the morning after they'd made love. It had been over two months since then and Albus was, at this point, so shocked to hear her say anything to him that at first he did not actually know how to respond.

He could not afford to not speak, though. If he did then she might think he was rebuking the first friendly overture she'd made in months. He could let her think that. He missed her companionship desperately. She probably hadn't forgiven him yet—perhaps she never would, but he was not beyond hope—but at least she seemed to be speaking to him. That was something.

"Of course!" he managed to force out through his surprise.

"I think we will need some privacy," she told him calmly, showing no sign of any emotion at all in her face. "When can we manage that?"

Albus glanced around him at the colleagues that surrounded them in the teacher's lounge, grading assignments and reading scholarly texts. Yes, they certainly would need some privacy. It would not due to have any of the staff finding out about what happened. The fact was that it would be absolutely scandalous. He did not need that and Minerva especially did not. As hard as this was for him he was not so daft as to think that it was not harder for her.

Unfortunately their need for privacy would postpone this talk. He had a few things he needed to take care of in the teacher's lounge and then he was needed at the Ministry. He probably would not be back until sometime late in the evening.

Quickly the idea of canceling his appearance at the Ministry came and went from his mind. This was an issue directly related to the school. He could not simple ignore or cancel it, no matter how much he wished to start on repairing his relationship with Minerva. The school came first and his problem with her were his own fault. If he'd managed to conjure up more control than an adolescent then he would not be in this situation at all. He would simply have to deal with the consequences. He'd lived more than long enough to be familiar with that concept.

"I've committed myself to an engagement at the Ministry not long from now. I'll not be back until sometime this evening, but if you're willing to talk then I would be as well."

She flinched a bit as his use of the word 'committed' and it occurred to him that he might have chosen his words more carefully. It passed from her face quickly however, and he thought it would be worse to draw attention to his word choice than to leave it alone, especially when others might overhear. Instead he simply waited for her to answer.

"That will be fine." Her words were crisp and clear, deliberately so and it was the only sign she was showing that she was feeling anything at all right now. Only someone who knew her well would even notice. "Whenever you get back, come to my office and we will talk then."

"I may be back very late," he told her, hating to say it. He didn't want her thinking he didn't want to talk with her, but he did not wish to accidentally stand her up either. That would be worse, and he knew it.

"Whenever you get back is fine. I'll wait, but we need to speak." For the first time Albus detected something new in her here. She was worried, and even scared. He was beginning to wonder what he should expect when he talked with her that night. It made sense for a person to be apprehensive about what would probably amount to a very emotional and draining conversation but he had to wonder. This did not seem like Minerva to him. There was something amiss but her walls were still up high enough that he was having a hard time guessing what.

"All right," he agreed, eyeing her carefully.

"Until then," she said, nodding and turning quickly to leave the room. The apprehension he'd seen on her face had been quite deliberately erased. It had only lasted those few seconds. She didn't want him to know about it.

Perhaps he was being absurd. She'd been avoiding him for weeks. It did not make sense that she wouldn't be apprehensive about speaking with him now after all that had happened.

Still, he wondered.

/E/E/E/E/E/

A knock sounded on Minerva's office door and she knew that the moment she'd been dreading for the past two days had come.

"Come in."

The door opened and Albus walked in, calm as he ever was. Well, not quite. He did show signs of worry, but she did not think that his worry went anywhere deep as hers did. After all, only she knew exactly what it was she needed to say.

How did one say these things? She'd never been good with words. Not the way he was at least. She could adequately express herself intellectually, of course, but it seemed that when she found herself trying to say anything deeper or tried to be sensitive to the deeper things in others she became utterly tongue tied. How did one broach a subject like this? The only way she could think of was to be blunt and straight forward, but that did not seem to be the best way. It seemed as though there had to be a way to lead into this, to prepare him.

But she sure as hell couldn't think of it.

"Hello, Minerva," he said cordially as he closed the door behind him, sparing her the trouble of being the first one to speak.

"Hello," she returned, still trying to formulate what she was going to say in her head. It wasn't going well.

"I believe you told me this morning that you wished to speak to me."

Well, he'd given her an opening. She'd might as well take it.

"Yes," she answered. She opened her mouth to say more, but found that the words would not come. She closed her mouth and thought for a second, then began again. "Sit."

Albus complied, sitting down quickly in a nearby wooden chair with a high back.

A sigh escaped Minerva's lips. She wished she were better at things like this, but she wasn't and would simply have to go on as best she could. "Listen, Albus, we both know I'm not great with words. I only know one way to say this and that's the direct way. I'm sorry."

She took a deep breath. She had to say it. She couldn't not say it. That simply wasn't an option.

"I'm pregnant," she managed, then turned quickly away, pretending that she needed something from her desk so she would not have to see the shocked look on his face and he would not see the tears that had suddenly sprung to her eyes.

Silence filled the room and Minerva did her best to not look at Albus as tears began to roll silently down her cheeks. She was scared. She hated to admit it but she was. She had suddenly found herself in a very messy situation and she didn't know what to do about it. She'd been very stupid, she knew, but none of this had seemed so at the time.

That did not change the fact that it had been stupid, however. She hadn't thought at all. She'd simply gone with her instincts and those instincts had placed her in a very uncomfortable position.

At least the hardest part was over now, though. She'd told him. He knew and that, at least, made her feel a small bit less ill at ease.

She felt a presence behind her and turned to find Albus standing behind her, looking down at her with an expression of the utmost guilt and apology. It was the same look he'd been wearing that morning when he'd told her that he could not be with her. Seeing it, she found the tears slipping from her eyes even faster. He pulled her into his arms, a gesture she accepted willingly, wrapping her arms tightly about him. One hand held her to him as the other went to her hair, still in its customary bun, and began smoothing it in soothing manner.

Quietly, he told her he was sorry. He went on about the entire thing being his fault, about how he should have known better. It broke her heart. She knew what had happened. He'd gotten carried away. She had too. That happened sometimes, especially when your emotions were tied so closely to something as theirs were to each other. He loved her. She knew that. Even when she'd stormed out of his room and not spoken to him for weeks afterward, she'd known that. She'd simply been too hurt to admit it. Now she was too upset to be hurt anymore, too stretched emotionally. She'd found herself in a tight spot and she needed his emotional support. She no longer had the strength to stay mad at him, not when she knew deep down how he felt about her.

"This is my fault too," she told him, chiding. "I'm just as responsible as you are."

"But I . . ."

"You feel guilty for telling me what you did and then having me end up pregnant with your child. You feel like you should have acted differently, but it wouldn't have mattered if I hadn't wanted it too."

She pulled away from him so that she could look into his eyes. He looked terribly confused. She couldn't blame him. She knew that it seemed to him as though her attitude had just made a complete 180 degree turn. Not five days ago, she'd not been speaking to him for not having acted differently.

"I'm not mad at you, Albus," she admitted. "I was, but I'm not any more. I don't have the strength to be, not with this and not when I understand why you did what you did."

"You do?" he asked, bewildered. It was a shocking thing to see on Albus' face. After all, normally he understood everything. She'd never seen it not be so, but here it was. She'd confused him.

"I do," she said. "It just hurt to hear you say that. I . . . I've wanted to hear you tell me you loved me since I was sixteen years old. Not constantly since then, but that was when I first fell in love with you. Despite your noble motivations for what you did, it shattered a dream I've had for simply years. That's not an easy thing to take."

The confusion in Albus' eyes had been replaced by a deep hurt. "I'm sorry."

She smiled, at him, more tears slipping down her cheeks even as she did so. "Didn't I tell you I understood? I know why you did what you did. It . . . The more I think about I think about the idea of this child being hurt, the more I understand why we can't be together. I can't bear to risk that life just as I know you can't bear to risk mine."

"You're keeping the child then?" he asked, picking up on the implications of what she'd just said.

She found that the tears were coming faster again. "I don't have it in me to do otherwise. I can't bear the thought."

He pulled her back to him, hugging her fiercely and sharing in her pain. He still felt guilty and responsible for what had happened but he thanked the fates for the small reprieve her understanding granted him. He did not want her thinking he had done what he did to hurt her, and now he knew that she did not. They were in the same place, she and he, and only they knew it. She needed him and he her. He may have felt responsible for the situation but they were both in it.

"I will do everything I can to help you through this, Minerva, even if . . ."

"Even if it must be done in secret," she finished quietly, her faced still buried his nearly entirely grey beard.

He nodded, even though he knew she could not see it. They both knew it had to be that way. Neither of them could bear the thought of a child—_their_ child—ending up dead because of who his or her father was. There were some things that had to take precedent. This was one of them.

"The governors won't like the idea of one of their teachers, especially one with so much power, being an unwed mother. We saw how they were when we fought to make sure you were appointed to your positions."

"I know," she agreed. "I take comfort in the fact that they would probably be even more upset if they knew who the father is."

"They could fire you," Albus pointed out, worry in his voice.

"You'll just have to convince them not to."

"What if they figure out why it is I'm fighting so hard to make sure you're not?"

Minerva's heart clenched at the thought. "We'll just have to hope they don't. What else can we do?"

"You could resign your position," Albus pointed out, hating himself for doing it. She loved this job and he knew it, but he also knew she placed the child before that.

"It would be worse if I did," she said. "Someone would find out why, and I think it would look worse for you and if I simply left without question under those circumstances. People would wonder why, and I think they would be more inclined to wonder correctly."

"You may be right," Albus agreed. "The clandestine does inspire more curiosity than those things that are out in the open."

"Exactly," she agreed. "We'll just have to hope that it's too obvious for people to think of and take seriously."

Albus sighed and kissed her dark hair, allowing himself the small sign of affection as he worried about how they would keep their secret.


	31. As a Teacher: The Governors

"It places a blemish on the school, Dumbledore! Our Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor having a child out of wedlock! It's disastrous! What will the parents think?"

"I think that our teachers social and family lives are no one's business but their own," Albus answered calmly. "That is school policy."

Hart opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Albus had him there. It was school policy for the personal lives and relations of the school's teachers to remain secret. It was a matter of safety. Only he, the Headmaster, and the most senior of the Governor's knew who and what the staff's families were—other than those teachers themselves informed themselves, of course.

"Be that as it may," said the only witch there, a parent and recent addition. "The students will notice she is pregnant eventually. They'll talk."

"Just as they would about any other teacher who turned up pregnant."

"The others are married," objected a tall wizard with dark hair.

"Three of my other female staff are not," Albus pointed out, knowing full well that the man was by no means a senior Governor and had no idea of what he spoke. He pinned the man with his crystal blue stare. "And it will seem the same to our students. They have no idea who is and is not married amongst the staff."

"Well as far as _I'm_ concerned, Dumbledore," said Victor, speaking up loudly and eyeing his fellows, "the only issue here is whether or not she can still do her job. She's a lot of responsibilities and I want to make sure they're taken care of. Unmarried women having children is not our concern. That's just life, like it or not."

Well, at least Victor wasn't going to take issue with Minerva's marital status. That made things a lot easier. He'd just shown Albus how to win his own vote—and therefore everyone else's vote—and it was not unreasonable. He'd, of course, shown Angus Hart how to defeat him in the same move, but Albus was confident that he would win this. Work was Minerva's life. It was how she dealt with her stress, especially the stress she was feeling now because of the situation they were in. When she needed to escape it, she would simply sit down and find herself some sort of work to do. Honestly, Albus wasn't certain what she'd do if she didn't have her work.

"I do not believe that is an issue," Albus stated calmly, deciding he should use his best point first. "I've not noticed anything lacking in my Deputy's work of late, and it seems to me that you cannot have either. After all, you did not even suspect that she was pregnant until she requested maternity leave for later this year, is that not correct?"

He could see on many of their faces that they were surprised he had known that, but some of the other simply nodded to him. They were either too surprised to lie or unwilling to.

"Then there is no issue," said Albus simply, wearing a smile that was both pleasant and satisfied at the same time.

Albus could see that he had taken the wind right of Hart's sails, but the man was not to be outdone. He'd known even back when they appointed McGonagall that she would be trouble of some sort, and now he'd been proven right. What she'd done . . . it was simply ghastly. Highly immoral, that was what is was and he certainly did not want his children being taught by someone like that. He intended to be sure they were rid of Minerva McGonagall before she could cause any more trouble. He floundered about in his head, looking desperately for an argument to answer Dumbledore with.

"Of course she can do her work _now_," he managed, thinking quickly, "but what about after the child is _born_? When she's on maternity leave, who will do her work? Then after that, when she's 'working' again, will she be able to handle her workload? It's largest of any of the staff and she will be taking care of an infant _by herself_ at the same time. No one could handle that. It's too much."

Hart knew that he'd been clutching at straws when he brought up her work being done during her maternity leave as a problem, but he knew he'd found gold with the idea that all of that was too much for one woman to do. It was something he actually believed.

"Such things have never been an issue before," came the calm answer.

"We've never had this _specific_ problem before."

It did not take a man anywhere near as smart as Albus to figure out what he meant by that. He could easily see that despite Victor's statement, Hart and many of the other Governors were still determined to make this about Minerva's marital status. He wondered if this meant that some of them might actually go against whatever Victor wanted for the first time in the last decade and a half. He hoped not.

"That changes nothing," Albus replied almost flippantly, refusing to be intimidated. He had to focus on convincing Victor. He could not control the ignorance and short-sightedness of the others. "Temporary replacements will handle Professor McGonagall's work while she is on leave—even her responsibilities as Head of House and Deputy Head. This is not the first time that someone in one or even both of those positions has needed maternity leave. After that, she will work a normal day just as everyone else does, transferring the child to a family member for daytime care."

"Has this been discussed with her family?" Hart asked quickly.

Albus simply nodded. Hart could feel himself fighting a losing battle. What else could he say? Everything seemed to be covered and it troubled him. If she continued working at Hogwarts then a year or two from now the Governors would be dealing with yet another problem she had caused them.

"If temporary replacements can handle her work during her leave, then why not replace her in one or two of her positions on a permanent basis and reduce her workload?"

Relief flooded Hart and he felt an immediate rush of gratitude towards his colleague. It was nice to see his fellow sticking to their words about agreeing with him about McGonagall. What had been suggested was not a full victory, it was true, but it was a miraculous save from the outcome Hart had expected. The less important they could make McGonagall at Hogwarts, the less trouble she would be able to be.

"I know for a fact that Professor McGonagall would not be agreeable to that and ti was only last year that these Governors agreed to my appointment decisions regarded her based on the fact that she was the best qualified. Hogwarts deserves to have the most qualified people it can acquire."

"Things can change in a year," Hart pointed out, taking up the reins of the argument.

"The only thing that has changed for Professor McGonagall is that she has been blessed with a child. This does not impact her qualifications."

"Blessed?" the lone witch asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "Are those her words?"

"Yes, in fact they are. She would not desire to keep her positions at Hogwarts if she saw a child as a stressor that would impact her work."

"I see," the witch replied and pursed her lips.

Victor placed a strong but very wrinkled hand on the table in front of him. "Well, I've heard enough. I'd like to put this to a vote. Who seconds?"

The tall wizard with dark hair voiced a quick agreement and Albus stood there nervously as the Governors voted. He hoped no one would be brave enough to challenge Victor on the decision he knew the wise old man had made.

Luckily for both he and Minerva, he hoped correctly.


	32. Alan, Age One Day: Happy Day

"Minerva!"

Minerva cringed at the sound of her mother's voice and her son squirmed fretfully in her arms. She held a finger to her lips, begging her mother to be quiet. Her son was sleeping for the first time in well . . . ever. She didn't want her mother to wake him.

Minerva saw her mother's face soften from its excitement to a more tender look. "Oh, he's asleep isn't he?" she whispered and she quietly made her way over to her daughter and grandson. "Have you finally named him?" she asked in whisper, sitting down on the edge of Minerva's bed and taking a long look at the sleeping baby.

"Yes, I have."

June McGonagall knew her daughter well enough to know that she would have to be prompted if she expected her to give an answer. Minerva was absolutely infuriating that way—as well as in many other ways. "Well?"

"Alan."

June was more than a little surprised that Minerva had not stuck with family tradition and based the child's name at least loosely around the name of a Roman God. It was a tradition that went back a fair number of generations. It might have something to do with the wishes of the child's father, of course—not that she had any idea who that might be. She did not know why her daughter was being so infuriatingly tight-lipped about the subject. She felt that if Minerva wanted to keep the man's identity from the world that was fine, but keeping it from her family too? June simply did not understand it. She and Minerva had been arguing over that very subject ever since Minerva had informed her she was pregnant.

It took a fair amount of self-control for June to not bring that up now, to not try yet again to convince her daughter that she should tell her mother these sorts of things, but she knew very well that today was not the day for that. They could argue over it later. June did not want her grandson's first day of life on earth to be sullied like that. It wasn't Alan's fault that his mother had some silly need to be so private, that she did not yet understand that these sorts of things were what mothers were for.

She decided she needed to find something else to talk about, something that would hopefully not start an argument between she and Minerva. Subjects like that had been far easier to come by since Minerva's father had died, the fact of the matter being that Tempus' death had brought mother and daughter closer together than they had ever been previously, but it was still not a terribly easy task.

June sighed inwardly. She would have to be more careful now about alienating Minerva. If she wasn't she might accidentally place herself in a situation where she saw her youngest grandchild far less frequently than she would like.

And somewhere within her, subconsciously at least, she realized that she really could no longer tell Minerva what to do. While her youngest child, her baby, had still been unattached and free with no responsibilities but to herself, it had been easy to hide that fact from herself. Now that Minerva had a child of her own, however, June could not hide it from herself any longer. Married or not, Minerva was a mother now. She was responsible for another human being. She did not need someone to be responsible for her.

Not that June would ever be able to completely give up that role. It was too much a part of her nature.

"I saw the Headmaster on my way in," June stated, successfully changing the subject. "He was just leaving and said hello."

"That's very nice," said Minerva quietly, glancing down at Alan and adjusting him slightly in her arms.

"Was he here to see you?" her mother asked pleasantly, her voice still low in awareness of the sleeping baby. "I seem to remember hearing others speak of him as being kind in that general manner."

"Albus is kind in nearly every conceivable manner," Minerva responded, not looking up from Alan. There was something odd about Minerva's mannerisms here—or was it her voice?—June detected. Something was off in a small, subtle sort of way, even if she couldn't quite place her finger directly on it. How very confusing.

"He's a great man," June agreed, still trying to figure out what wrong with Minerva.

Minerva nodded, then decided a change in subject was in order. Albus was not someone she wanted to talk about with her mother. The woman was already too nosy and knowing.

"Are Maia and Jove coming too?"

Ironically enough it was Minerva's changing of the subject that really tipped her mother off as to what was wrong. Maybe if Minerva had been better with people and better at reading them the way her mother and Albus were she would have realized, but she wasn't and she didn't. So it suddenly dawned on her mother that Minerva still had feelings for the old headmaster just as she had when she was a teenager.

Her first thought was to wonder if Alan's father knew. Would he approve of the mother of his child harboring feeling for another man? Then, an instant later, the idea that Albus Dumbledore himself might be the father occurred to June. She stared at Minerva with wide, examining eyes as she answered her question.

"They'll be here in about an hour."

Could Albus Dumbledore really have fathered her grandchild? It did seem to make sense, based on Minerva's reaction—and he had just been here to see Minerva, she'd confirmed that. Was it really possible? It did not seem like the sort of thing Albus Dumbledore would do. Suddenly the idea that Dumbledore was Alan's father seemed silly. Just because Minerva still had remnants of an old crush and felt uncomfortable about it—well, that didn't mean anything. It could even mean that Minerva felt as though she was betraying Alan's father.

That was probably it, June decided, but she also decided that she would keep her eyes open. If Minerva would not tell her who Alan's father was then she could still try to figure it out. There was nothing stopping her from doing that.

"Oh, good," Minerva answered. She was looking forward to seeing her siblings, both of them. It had been a long while since she'd spoken to either of them in anything but letters.

Mother and daughter sat in silence for while, watching each other as well as the baby. It was not, for once, an uncomfortable silence born of a disagreement btu rather a pleasant one. Both knew that time had changed the dynamic of their relationship yet again and both hoped quietly that perhaps this new kind of silence of theirs would become the norm.

It was June who finally spoke, breaking the silence and asking something that she would never have asked before because Minerva would never have answered. "Are you scared, Min, of what's ahead of you with all of this?"

Fear shone clearly in Minerva's eyes as she answered. "More than you can possibly know."

"I think I may have an inkling. I've had three children. I know how terrifying it is."

"No mother," Minerva answered, and her voice took on annoyed edge. "You don't. This is different. This is very, very different."

"Why don't you tell me then?"

"I've already told you I can't, Mother. Let's not argue about it again."

_And again the subject of that boy's father returns_, June thought and wondered again if Dumbledore really could be the child's father. She would not ask.

"I agree. I just don't like this."

"No one does, Mother—I can promise you that—but that doesn't change how things are."

_Always so ambiguous_, June thought, annoyed, but she held her tongue.

She'd already decided they could argue later. This was a happy day.


	33. Alan, Age Four Months: Albus

Voices rang out loudly through Minerva's summer home. Though he figured largely in the voices' discussion, an infant with the beginnings of a head of auburn hair ignored them. Occasionally he would seem to notice his name amongst the racket, but his attention to that was fleeting. He would quickly return to examining his surroundings, a large room where many of his toys resided.

Meanwhile the voices kept arguing.

"You haven't seen him since the day he was born!"

"That can't be helped!"

"He's your son, Albus! You could at least make an _effort_ to see him!"

Albus' head, sitting in Minerva's fire, held a look of bitterness. "He doesn't know that."

Minerva looked at him as though she just might breath fire, but she kept her voice even. "_You_ know that, and I know that. Albus, do you have any idea how much he's grown in four months?"

"I imagine he's grown as is normal for children of that age."

"Since you're obviously familiar with how much that is, then, you know how much you're missing by not seeing him. Stop by, Albus, just for a day. I don't want you to be a stranger to him and I know you don't want that either."

"What reason would I have to come? We must practice discretion! People must not look at this and see the truth," Albus argued.

"You're worried people will know? Who would see to know? Albus, just apparate over here and no one will know. Even if they do, we are friends. It is not unusual for friends to make social calls on one another."

Albus' face turned contemplative and Minerva knew he was looking for things that neither of them could see. He wanted to make sure their was nothing small but obvious in their possible actions that an observant person would see and interpret correctly. He was not finding them, however, and the determination he'd had to stay steadfast in his decision to stay away from Minerva's summer home and their new baby was wavering. He wanted to see his son very badly.

"You know I'm right, Albus. Just one visit. It will make you feel better."

"I can't help but think that engaging in such small visits and other family niceties will be our undoing."

"We're not talking about family niceties. This would be a visit to a friend who just happens to have a very young son," Minerva pushed.

"We can't be certain people will see it that way."

"If people see it at all."

If Minerva hadn't known him so well, she almost would have called the look Albus gave her patronizing. "The British magical community is very close knit. You can't possibly think that people won't notice I've gone to see you."

"People have their own lives to live. It's very possible as far as I'm concerned."

"Some of their lives include pelting me with owls and requests. My absence will be noticed, I'm sure."

Minerva sighed. She really wanted to insult him right now. Perhaps call him arrogant and stupid. Even as upset as she was with him over his insistence that he could not see his own son, she knew that was inaccurate and held her tongue. She knew where all of this was coming from. Albus loved Alan just as much as she. She simply had to remember that.

"Fine," she said, her voice biting. "But how the hell do they know where you've gone? And even if they do know, it still looks like nothing."

"I can't Minerva, I'm sorry. I'll see him when you come back to the castle for the school year. I'll speak with you then."

She couldn't have just lost this argument again. She just couldn't have. She'd promised herself—and Alan, though he did not understand—that she would not let this conversation end without Albus giving.

He was beginning to pull his head from the fire. She had to stop him.

"Albus, wait."

He quit moving and looked back up at her.

"Would it look any better if I perhaps came to the castle and brought him with? I do work there."

"Minerva—"

She held up a hand and stopped. "Albus, I have to do something. He may never know you're his father, but that doesn't mean you should be a stranger to him. You're my best friend, I think that even just based on that he should be familiar with you."

"And?"

Damn. How did he always know when she left something out? Sometimes she wished he wasn't so damn perceptive. There were things she would love to simply keep to herself, but he always knew. He'd known she was in love with him and he knew now that there was more to this than she was saying.

"And I just don't want to fight about this again, and we will if you don't see him. We've been fighting all summer, and I'd really rather we just stop."

"As would I," Albus agreed, and he suddenly looked very tired. It broke Minerva's heart. The entire situation did. "But I can't be certain this is a good idea. I won't sacrifice Alan for my own selfish desires."

"And I would do that?" Minerva's voice was menacing and dangerous. It actually made Albus mad that she would take what he said that way. He didn't mean that and she should damn well know it.

"I did not say that and you know it."

"Then trust my judgement. I'll come to the castle and then you can see your son."

"Have you been listening to a word I've said? This could be a horribly bad idea!"

"I think the fact that you're telling me it '_could_' be a bad idea speaks for itself. You're being overcautious. I agree that we have to be careful, but if we're too careful then we will be robbing all three of us of half of the things that matter in life."

"You're being overly dramatic."

"I don't think so. I've sacrificed his ever having any knowledge of his father and any prospect of a romantic relationship which I have fantasized about since I was a teenager, all for the sake of keeping him safe. I'm willing to do everything necessary to keep him safe, but not the things that are unnecessary. It just makes the price to high. This is unnecessary."

If it had been any other woman saying that to him, Albus would have been inclined to think that she was trying to guilt-trip him into getting what she wanted. This was Minerva, however, and Albus knew that she had neither the will nor the perception to effectively guilt-trip someone. She was too direct of a person and generally to unable to detect the emotions of others for it. It was almost too bad, because even though she wasn't trying to guilt-trip him, he was feeling guilty. She was giving up a lot here and he knew it.

Almost unwittingly, he began to reexamine his decision. It was true that someone might notice a trip such as this one and figure out what his relationship to Alan was—but that would likely mean they were putting a fair amount of effort into finding the child's father. If someone were putting that much effort into finding out, he reasoned there was little chance that he and Minerva would be able to be careful enough to keep he or she from finding out anyway. Was there really much point to denying themselves such little things?

He wanted to see his son and he wanted to see her. Having given himself a reasonably logical reason for why he shouldn't deny himself, he caved quickly to his wants.

"You're right," he told her. "The price is high enough as it is. I'll be there within the hour."

Minerva looked completely shocked by the fact that he had, in fact, finally agreed with her after an entire summer of argument. She had, apparently, expected him to stay firm in his decision and end the conversation the way all the previous ones had: with both of them feeling angry and hurt, struggling with the complex situation they found themselves in. He had not done that and for a second or two, she was pulled off balance.

She managed to recover quickly. "No, I'll come there. A little easy caution won't hurt either of us."

"I'm not certain that's a good idea. The house elves have rather large ears."

"They're bound to be loyal to you, Albus. You are Headmaster."

"Only until I die," Albus objected calmly.

Minerva looked horrified by the statement, and more than a little angry. She didn't want to hear him say that any more than she wanted to think about the possibility of that same thing happening to her little boy.

"Don't look so upset, Minerva. I'm not trying to upset you."

She found that statement to be very hollow. "Thank you," she told him stiffly.

"Don't do that. I'm not being morbid, I'm being careful. It's not as though I have a death wish."

"I know that," she spat in bad temper. "But I don't like to hear you say things like that. Can't you just let me be angry about it?"

"I think we've both been angry enough for the past few months. I'd rather you be happy to see me."

"I'll be happy to see you whether I'm mad at you or not."

Her words still had bite to them, but the implications of what she'd said hung thickly in the air for a few moments before Albus said goodbye again and pulled his head out of the fire in his office.

/E/E/E/E/E/

"He really has grown a lot."

"I told you."

"I didn't want to think about it."

Silence fell and Minerva watched Albus as he studied his son, his eyes both filled with something akin to wonder. It was heartwarming to look upon. Sometimes when they'd argued, Minerva had wondered whether he felt anything more for the boy than an obligation to protect him. Seeing the love in Albus' eyes was very reassuring.

"He has your eyes," he commented.

"They are a family trait."

"Hopefully he will continue to look like a McGonagall. It will be very awkward if too many more Dumbledore traits make themselves apparent."

They both knew he was referring to Alan's hair, already growing in to be Albus's auburn color. Silence fell again as they both quietly worried about exactly how much he would look like Albus as he aged.

"Would you care to hold him? You never did when you came to see the two of us in the hospital."

Hesitation replaced the love in his eyes and it suddenly occurred to Minerva that he might be trying to not get too close to his son. Perhaps because he was afraid of compromising himself.

"Albus?"

He looked at her then back at his son, staring at infant as the boy stared back at him and babbled. After a moment, he nodded, mostly to himself or the boy, it seemed and moved forward to pick Alan up.

Minerva watched carefully as son and father interacted for the first time. Alan stared at Albus, seemingly unsure of what to think of the stranger holding him. He quickly turned his head to look at his mother, perhaps to signal his uncertainty or to ask her what it was he should think of this new man. Minerva moved forward towards her baby and began to reassure him that the new man was no threat.

"Shh, sweetheart," she whispered quietly, smoothing his wispy hair. "This is your father."

"Minerva!"

"You are his father Albus."

"If we call me his father while he's this age then that's the label he will learn to attach to me. We can't have him calling me 'father'."

She sighed, frustrated that Albus was correct. Alan was at least one or two months ahead in his development and it was quite clear to her that he already recognized things by their labels. If she started referring to Albus as his 'father' or 'daddy' or any paternal label, that was how Alan would learn to refer to him, and quickly so.

"Albus," she corrected. "This is Albus."


	34. Alan, Age Seventeen Months: A Guess

"Now go play with your cousin, sweetheart," said Minerva, putting her wand back into her pocket.

"Okay, mum," he responded, his speech remarkably clear for a child not quite a year and a half old, and toddled off to where her brother's youngest son, Vulcan, was playing under a large tree.

"It's good you protect his skin," Minerva's mother commented, watching as her youngest grandchild went to join his dark haired cousin. "Children with hair that color tend to sunburn easily."

"You would know," Minerva replied idly, eyes focused on the two boys. She kept a close eye on Alan. Always. He was an intensely curious personality, and this often drew him into mischief. It seemed that every time she looked away from him for even an instant he managed to get himself into trouble of one sort or another.

"To a point," June replied, not quite agreeing nor quite disagreeing. Minerva knew that she was subtly indicating that she had noticed how Alan's hair color was not quite her own, despite what Minerva liked to lead people to believe. Minerva resolutely ignored the subtle message her mother's words carried, not responding at all. She'd known her mother would notice, sooner or later, that the hair which she daily pulled back into elegant twists was not the same color as her grandson's. The colors were very similar, there was no doubt of that, but June's hair was redder and lighter. Alan's hair . . .

Alan had Albus' hair color. His head was covered in auburn locks which matched his father's absolutely perfectly. Minerva could pretend he had inherited her mother's hair color, but both she and the woman in question knew that wasn't so.

When conversation struck up again, it was not what Minerva had expected. It was idle small talk, simply she and her mother discussing this and that as the fall afternoon faded. It was not June prodding at Minerva, trying to get her to divulge the name of her grandson's father as she had done in months passed. It was simple chatter, which strengthened and faded at odd intervals, never quite dying but at times bearing stretches of silence. It was the most pleasant conversation Minerva could remember having with her mother in a very long while.

The conversation lulled for the third or fourth time that afternoon and silence took hold. Minerva watched Alan, Vulcan and some of her other nieces and nephews as they ran about, just outside of the woods where she'd seen father die so many years before. June watched her, thinking.

They had been silent for over a quarter of an hour when June spoke, voicing a thought that had been floating in her mind for a small while. "Albus Dumbledore is his father, isn't he?"

June watched carefully as her raven-haired daughter's expression briefly became one of surprise, then changed to one of almost tired acceptance. She wasn't going to deny it, June realized. Despite how hard she'd fought against letting her mother figure out the truth, now that June had it she was not going to try to lead her astray of it.

Instead, without ever taking her eyes from the small forms of the playing children, she asked her mother a very simply question. "How did you know?"

"I took a guess," the older woman answered. "As time wore on, Professor Dumbledore simply seemed to be the most likely candidate. You've been lucky with your secret, Minerva. Alan looks like you, other than his hair color. I'd hoped I might gain more clues than that based on his looks but his resemblance to you is amazing."

"So you simply took a guess based on his hair color?" asked Minerva, trying to decide if she was relieved or panicked by the fact that something so simple could have lead to her mother's revelation. On the one hand, connections based on something so small were easily denied—on the other, if that was all it took then how many other people had correctly guessed the identity of Alan's father?

"Not really," June answered. "I don't base my guesses on such poor evidence. His resemblance to you simply meant I had to look elsewhere for clues."

Her mother dropped silent, and Minerva looked over at the older woman. As near as Minerva could guess, she appeared to be reminiscing, and so Minerva waited for her to continue.

"He's very different from you as a child, Minerva," she said, after a moment or two of silence. "You were very shy and quiet . . . and serious, very serious. Alan is outgoing, loquacious, engaging and utterly charming. I could always see the wheels in you head turning but you never shared what you were thinking. Not to me and not to most people. Alan tells you what he's thinking. Every thought that goes through your _very_ bright child's young mind, he makes you aware of. I figured those traits were something he got from his father. So when I started thinking through those with whom you were or are closely acquainted so I could figure out who his father was, I looked for those traits. I came up with more than one person, but Dumbledore was the one that really struck a chord with me."

"Why Albus?" Minerva asked quietly, her face somewhat pale. "Why Albus instead of the others?"

"The hair was a hint," June admitted, "but that wasn't it. The thing that really made me wonder was my memories of a very, very lovesick teenager."

Some color quickly returned to Minerva shocked face as she blushed in embarrassment. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew. I'm your mother, aren't I? I could see it on your face when you came home from school and I remember well who it was you ran to when your father was killed. You were head over heels for him. Other people may not have noticed, but I've known you your entire life. I noticed and now, knowing how close you two are, it didn't seem to be too large of a leap that you would begin to feel that way for him again."

"You forgot Albus," Minerva argued, not quite sure why she did. She'd already admitted to her mother that Albus had father Alan. There was nothing to be gained by arguing but she did it anyway. "He would have to feel the same way for this to work right. You thought of how I might feel, but what reason did you have to think that this affection went both ways?"

"Minerva, you are a beautiful young witch. I don't think there is a man, Muggle or wizard, alive who would not be pleased by your attention—and Dumbledore has always been fond of you. It's not a stretch to think that he would return you feelings."

"I see," said Minerva, turning back to the playing children.

"Besides," her mother added, not quite finished, "I also remember how you changed the subject when the Headmaster came up when I visited you at the hospital. That was when the thought of Dumbledore fathering your child first occurred at all. I dismissed it then, but I remembered the incident as I tried to puzzle out the identity of your secret lover."

"He's not my secret lover, mother."

Confusion flickered across June's face. "Of course he is. You just told me he's Alan's father."

"We aren't lovers. It happened once and will never happen again."

June did not like the way that sounded at all, nor did she care for the look on her daughter's face as she said it. "Explain."

"Being intimated connected to a man like Albus is dangerous," Minerva offered, her expression one of clear hurt. It was probably one of the most readable expression June had seen her wear in simply years. She could clearly see that Minerva very much wanted to be with Dumbledore. The idea that she was letting anything, especially something so silly, stop her from doing that was astounding.

"How could it be dangerous?" June asked, incredulous. "He the most powerful wizard of our age! He's legendary! Certainly a man like that could easily protect his family."

"He can't be with us everywhere, ready to protect us should someone decide they wanted to hurt us. He has other obligations. Many of them. I've never see so much as a week go by where the Ministry hasn't wanted him for _something_."

"There are other ways to protect people, you know," June argued. "Enchantments and such. Even I know something about it, and I know there are others who know far more. I imagine Dumbledore is very well versed in the subject. Surely he could do something."

"He has," Minerva told her. "He and I have so many protective enchantments cast on Alan I'm not certain I remember them all and I'm even fairly certain that Albus has cast a few on me despite my objections."

"So what's the problem then?"

"Enchantments can't protect you from everything," Minerva answered, carefully watching Alan as he played, "and there's always a way to get through them, even if there are a lot of them."

It was at that moment that it struck June exactly how scared Minerva was. She'd never heard Minerva speak like this before and she'd not seen that much fear in her eyes since the war with Grindelwald had neared Britain. She could not imagine what could possibly be so frightening to a daughter whom she'd thought had grown up to be nearly fearless. Whatever it was, it had to be awful, June was sure. Why else would Minerva be trying so hard to keep her secret, and denying herself a man whom she adored since childhood?

Briefly, June thought about asking, a morbid curiosity burning at her to find out who or what could be so awful. She did not, though. If it terrified Minerva so, maybe she did not want to know. She's always been a worrier. She already knew, that having found out why it was that Minerva was so bent on secrecy she would sleep less easily at night. Knowing the specifics might rob her of sleep completely.

"But if no one knows who Alan is, then no one will care to harm him. We won't have to worry about someone getting through our enchantments because no one will want to."

"I'm so sorry, Minerva."

"It's just the way things are. I . . . If it were just me, I wouldn't care. I don't like to live in fear of what could happen to me, but I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to Alan. I can't even stand to think about it."

The dread in Minerva's eyes, the fear that she would not be able to keep her secret and keep her son safe, seemed magnified by the tears in her eyes. She was on the brink of a full storm of tears and trying very hard to hold them back. Minerva had never been good at holding back her tears, though. She was like a statue most of the time, never letting her feelings show, but whenever those feelings got too strong June knew that she had a very hard time holding herself back. It might not always be obvious, but she felt things very strongly—something she'd gotten from her mother.

"We should go inside," June suggested. "Then you can cry all you need to."

"I'm fine."

"You're shaking."

"We need to watch them . . ."

"Mulciber is well old enough to keep an eye on the younger ones while we're inside. It's what I used to do with you, Maia and Jove when you were children."

Minerva looked ready to object.

"You're upset," June persuaded. "You've not been able to talk to anyone but Dumbledore about this for the last year and a half and I can see very clearly that it's been taking its toll on you. Come inside and we'll talk. It will help, I'm sure."

Minerva finally gave in, nodding as tears leaked from her eyes. She turned quickly from the children, keeping her back to them as she conjured a handkerchief and used it to dab quickly at her eyes.

As she did, June moved toward the children, and called her eldest grandchild, one of her sons four boys, over. Alan followed him, toddling along as quickly as he could manage behind his much older and longer-legged cousin.

"Mulciber, I need you to keep an eye on your brothers and cousin, all right?"

The dark-haired boy nodded in lazy agreement. He'd been asked to do this many times before. It was practically a given to him that he would be expected to mind the younger boys. He didn't mind, really. Being responsible and in charge was part of the boy's nature.

"Thank you," said June, letting him go back to what he was doing as Alan reached where they'd been talking.

"What is it, Alan?"

"What's wrong with my mother?"

He was a very observant and perceptive little boy. June knew that, but it still astounded her sometimes. Most year and a half year olds would not have noticed Minerva's quiet little break down.

"She's just not feeling well," June answered, hoping he would be satisfied. For a moment she was not certain he would be, as he thought over how plausible the answer seemed to him. He was, however, still simply a child and after a moment or two of thought he worriedly accepted her explanation.

"Is she gonna be okay?"

"She'll be fine. Now go play with your cousin."

"Are you sure?"

"Very."

"Okay, but I wanna know if she gets sicker," the auburn-haired boy responded. Assuring him she would, June shooed the boy off to join his cousins and then followed Minerva back to the house.

When she arrived, she found Minerva sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes dabbed dry of all of her tears and the handkerchief clutched firmly in her hand as she stared at the wall across from her.

"If you figured it out then how many other people will?" she asked as June closed the door behind her. "I can't help but be scared that if one person figured it out then everyone else will too."

"I think I'm a bit different aren't I? I know a lot more about this than most people do and I spent a lot of time figuring it out. I'm sure that other people won't find out."

"But it's possible. I know it's possible. You just did it. What if someone else does it too?"

"I will do everything I can to help you keep that from happening. I don't want to see anything happen to either of you. You know how I worry."

"I do," Minerva agreed. "It's the same way I worry about him."

Which was why she was so scared of someone else figuring out her secret the way June had, she knew. She might have done more harm than good by figuring it out. She'd given Minerva someone to help and talk to, but she'd also added a great deal of worry to a situation she knew that Minerva already spent a great deal of time worrying about.

There was nothing that could be done about it, however. There was no way for June to simply fix the problem as she wished to. All she could do was try and help.

So help she did.


	35. Alan, Age Three and a Half: Child's Mind

Author's Note:

I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated, but work has been keeping me busy (damn Burger King). Hopefully this chapter will make up for the long delay. Enjoy.

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_It's good to be home_, Minerva thought to herself, as she stepped out of the fireplace in her office and placed Alan on his own two feet.

Her mother had been right, Florence was an excellent idea. After all, she was fond of the city and had taken Alan there, on a whim, not long after he was born. It was not an entirely far-fetched idea that Alan's father might be some Italian wizard she had met on a previous trip, and thus, as her mother had suggested, she made certain she visited ever few months. She and Alan had made five trips there in the past two years and in addition to pleasing fact that Alan was beginning to pick up a significant amount of Italian (a feat only a child was capable of), her mother's idea seemed to be working. Jove, Minerva knew, was quite convinced that Alan's father lived somewhere in Italy. He was quite certain that she'd been swept off her feet by some tall, dark, cultured Italian.

It was, in some ways, very comforting that she could fool someone so close to her. After all, if Jove was fooled, then surely other people were too. Conversely, however, she hated that it worked. It made her feel as though she was poisoning one of her closest relationships. There was definitely a part of her that felt that tricking her brother, whom she admired and loved dearly, was simply wrong. It left a bad taste in her mouth whenever she thought about it.

She tried to avoid thinking about it.

"Go get ready for bed now, love. You should have been asleep an hour ago."

"I'm not tired," Alan argued, looking up at her hopefully. He had her eyes. When he had been a baby, she had thought that he might end up with Albus' eyes as well as his hair, but he had her eyes instead. The only way those eyes resembled his father's was in their constant twinkle.

"Scoot," she told him firmly, indicating the painting behind which their personal quarters lay.

"Yes, Mummy."

The auburn-haired little boy moved toward the bedroom at a pace not quite as fast as his usual one, but still quick enough to not evoke a reprimand. Minerva's eyes followed him for a moment before she turned back to the fire still burning in her office fireplace.

"I'll be there to tuck you in momentarily." she called behind her. "Right after I've finished speaking with the Headmaster."

"Is Albus going to be coming here?"

"Maybe," she answered, "however you will be in bed."

The acquiescing moan that sounded behind her as Alan gave the portrait, Darmond, the password into their rooms showed very clearly how much Alan hated missing an opportunity to spend time with Albus. It was not a common for such an opportunity to be missed but when it happened, Minerva always knew she would hear that moan escape her son's lips. He adored Albus and looked up to him in the same way most sons looked up to their fathers—even though he lacked the knowledge that Albus was indeed his father.

It was only natural, really. Albus was around the boy a lot. He and Minerva were still quite close, even if they weren't as close as either of them would like, and their jobs required a lot of interaction. Albus had been a familiar face to Alan ever since Minerva had returned to Hogwarts the summer after he born. To Alan, Albus was his mother's good friend and boss, and Alan's personal buddy while he was at the castle. Every summer, when he and his mother went returned to their home in Scotland, he always seemed to be counting down the days until he went back to Hogwarts and saw Albus again.

She wished that she could actually convince Albus to come see them sometimes during the summer, but she'd only succeeded twice for all of her pleadings. Albus was afraid that if he made himself too familiar, someone might notice and piece the puzzle together. She suspected he would have stopped their weekly chess games to that end, if she hadn't casually 'dropped' the notion that deviating from the pattern they'd established before Alan had been born might catch someone's attention. The last thing Albus, or she, wanted to do was attract attention of any sort towards Alan and themselves.

She heard the portrait close behind Alan and tossed a handful of floo powder into the fire. She'd promised Albus that she'd inform him of when she and Alan returned, as well as a chess game if it wasn't too late at night for one.

As soon as her head popped into his office, Minerva spotted Albus sitting at his desk and going through both his mail and a bag of sweets simultaneously. Minerva wished he wouldn't eat so many sweets. It taught Alan bad habits, laboring against her own efforts to curb their son's own sweet tooth. Every time she mentioned it, however, Albus would simply laugh and twinkle his eyes at her. He almost seemed to believe in sweets as a great force of good in the universe.

She believed it rotted the teeth of boys of all ages.

"Albus."

He looked up from his letter to the fire and smiled warmly at her, his eyes twinkling at her. "You've returned then."

"Just a few moments ago."

Silence fell momentarily and Minerva knew that Albus was holding back a 'thank you.' He always thanked her for notifying him immediately when she and Alan returned. It drove her crazy. She knew he worried while they were away, but she worried when he was away and would doubly so if he were to ever take their son with him. It was a small courtesy to tell him that they were back but she knew it did wonders for his peace of mind. She would never do otherwise and she didn't want him continually thanking her for something she would do even if he did not ask.

"The night is still young," she noted. "Are you interested in a game of chess?"

His eyes twinkled brightly at her, as soon as the words left her mouth. She hated it when he looked at her like that. It filled her with a variety of feelings she knew she could never again indulge in.

"That would be marvelous. I'm not quite finished with my mail but I should be shortly. I'll meet you in your office when I'm done. Is that all right?"

"That's fine. I still need to tuck Alan in."

Right about here was where a normal father would have asked her to say good night for him, but Albus and Alan did not share a normal father-son relationship. Normal sons knew that their fathers were their fathers.

It was amazing how even after three and half years moments like this still felt awkward and wrong. One would think a person would get used to that sort of thing but Minerva and Albus certainly never had. Perhaps it was because nearly every time it came up both had to struggle with the impulse to not simply act as anyone else would. Perhaps it was because both knew the other one struggled that way every time it came up despite the fact that neither had ever mentioned it happened.

"I'll see you when I'm finished then," said Albus, trying to carry on the conversation as normally as he could.

"I'll have the chess board set up when you arrive,"she said in way of farewell, and pulled her head from the fireplace.

She stood, and brushed the dirt from her knees, deciding as she did that she'd not cleaned her office in far too long. Normally it was absolutely spotless. She'd make sure to get to that tomorrow.

She walked over to where Darmond's portrait hung on the wall and gave him the password—'book,' Alan's first word—and entered her chambers. She lit her wand, not wanting to bother with the lights as she wouldn't be using them for very long and made her way to Alan's room, placed right next to hers courtesy of the castle (though how the castle had known she needed another room in her chambers, she had no idea).

She found Alan sitting on his bed in his Montrose Magpies pajamas, stroking their pet kneazle, Hewitt, as he read a short book. He'd started reading, real, phonetic reading not just sight reading, a month or two before and ever since he'd been reading almost constantly—especially around bedtime. He knew that his mother hated to stop him to make him go to bed.

Minerva sat down next to her son, who looked up as he felt the bed shift. "Can I just finish this? Then I'll go to sleep, mummy. I promise."

"I've heard that one before," she told him, gently lifting the book from his hands and placing it on his night stand. "Come on, into bed."

He complied, and she tucked him in, kissing him softly on both cheek and hair. She needed to have his hair cut again. It was getting a little long—not that she minded her son having long hair, in fact she thought that when his hair got a little long he bore something of a resemblance to her father. The problem was, however, that he also began to bear a stronger resemblance to his own father, whose hair was longer than Minerva's own, as well. So made sure his hair stayed above his shoulders.

She kissed him once more, for good measure, and Alan smiled sleepily at her. He might argue about it but he was well ready to sleep. He'd had that same groggy look in his eyes for the past half hour.

"Good night, wee one."

With a wave of her wand, Minerva swept all light from the room and turned to leave. She was nearly out of the room when Alan's voice called her back.

"Mum . . ."

She turned, hands on her hips. "Yes?"

"Is Albus my da?"

It took a moment or two for Minerva to recover from the great shock she'd experienced at the words that had just come out of her three year old's mouth. Even then all she could manage through the quiet panic that suddenly gripped her was an awkward utterance of "what?"

"I think Albus is my da."

She tired to recover as best she could. How could he know that? He was only three and she'd never breathed a word to or near him about his father. He couldn't possibly actually _know_.

"What makes you think that?"

She tried to keep her breathing even.

"I can just tell," he answered and Minerva heard the faint rustle of his sheets as he shrugged. "From the way he treats me and the way you act together." There was a momentary pause. "And he has my hair, like Uncle Jove has Vulcan's hair."

He knew. He actually knew. Her three year old had quickly and easily figured out a secret which she had not plan to let him in on for a number of years. She needed to sit down. Where was that chair? It was too dark in here to find it. She settled for leaning back against the door frame instead.

"He is my da, isn't he, mum?"

She could stop this all right now. She could make life far easier and less stressful by telling him 'no,' but she couldn't do that. She couldn't lie to him, especially when she knew that she would have to tell him the truth sooner or later. She didn't want to have to tell him later that she'd lied when she'd denied Albus was his father. She had to tell him the truth right now. She could figure out what else to do about it later.

"Yes, he is. Now go to sleep. We can talk about this tomorrow."

"But mummy—"

"Goodnight, Alan."

She shut the wooden door behind her and made her way shakily to wear she kept her chess board and chessmen. God, she was so out of sorts even her wand was sparking. Maybe she shouldn't have told him. How could she expect a three year old to keep a secret like that? It was a preposterous idea . . .

But then again, that's what she had thought of the idea of him figuring out who his father was and look what had happened. Maybe she wasn't wrong. Lying to children was rarely a good idea and the fact was that Alan might very well have known if she had. He was very perceptive. If she hadn't known it before, this little incident would have proven it. It was his perceptions and intuition which had lead him to his father's identity.

Her pieces were half set up on the chess board when she heard a knock on her office door. That would be Albus. She was going to have to tell him about this too. She hadn't even thought about that until now.

She set down the chess piece she was holding and went to answer the door.

The words were out of her mouth before he had even spoken a greeting.

"Albus, he knows."


	36. Alan, Age Three and a Half: Secrets

"Who knows what, my dear?"

"Alan. He knows, Albus. Tonight as I was putting him to bed right out of the blue he asked me 'mum, is Albus my da?'"

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him the truth."

"You told him that I'm his father?" Albus asked, something akin to fear or horror sparking in his eyes.

"Well, that is the truth isn't it?" Minerva replied sarcastically. "Yes, of course that's what I told him."

The air around Albus suddenly seemed to spark with agitation. "You couldn't have discussed this with me first?"

Minerva responded to Albus' agitation with her own. "He caught me a little off guard," she responded, staring at the man in front of her with hard eyes. "Besides, how was I supposed to respond? Should I have told him that I would get back to him later with an answer? Should I have _lied _to him?"

"Of course not," he responded, finally entering her office and closing the door. It had occurred to him that this was not an argument they could afford to have heard. He moved past her toward her desk. "But I think it would have been best to have told him nothing at all."

"That just would have made him more sure. As this incident proves, he's a very smart, very perceptive boy—two traits you should be very familiar with since he gets them from you. Leaving him to his own devices is far more dangerous to his well-being than telling him the truth and giving him our guidance. Besides, it's been done. I can't undo it and it's not like I can use a memory charm on him."

"No," Albus mimicked thoughtfully, "you can't . . ."

"Neither can you," Minerva told him softly, still staring at him with hard green eyes. "I won't risk it. You and I both know what can happen when you place a memory charm on a child that young so don't even think it."

"Think of what might happen to him if we don't. I don't want to someday find the two of you struck down by _Avada Kedavra_."

"A memory charm is not the answer. That boy, _your son_, has a very bright future ahead of him. He's very clever. I won't risk you messing up and erasing all of that along with his knowledge of his paternity."

"Then what do you suggest we do, Minerva? Should we simply trust a three year old to never once slip up? You shouldn't have told him."

"I would have had to have told him eventually anyway."

"No, you wouldn't."

"_Excuse me_?" Minerva asked, her voice dangerously even. She was trying to control herself, Albus knew, but Minerva's temper was volatile. When she became angry she had a tendency to do so very quickly and obviously—no matter how much she controlled herself there was no way to miss it when she was angry. Right now she was most certainly very angry with him. That was all right. He was angry with her too. She'd been very stupid.

"I said that you did not have to tell him eventually. I see no reason that he ever needed to be told at all."

"He deserves to know the truth eventually. It wouldn't be fair to him to keep it a secret forever."

"On this particular subject you will forgive me if 'fairness' is not my priority."

"He would have figured it out eventually and he would have been angry at us for not telling him."

"Sometimes it's best not to tell children certain things for their own safety. He would have figured that out eventually and forgiven us."

"After how long?" Minerva asked angrily. "How much time do you care to lose to anger over us keeping a secret he deserved to know? Maybe I shouldn't have told him now. Maybe I should have come up with something else to tell him. I can't change that now, but the fact is that eventually whether or not he keeps this his secret will become his own business."

"His keeping this secret effects you too, Minerva. I don't like the idea that a potential misstep of his could result in your death either. What he does with this will eventually become his business as far as it pertains to his life, but what about where it pertains to yours?"

A sigh escaped Minerva's lips and her demeanor softened noticeably. Suddenly her eyes were less green and staring at him with a love often buried as deep as possible. "Albus, if it weren't for what this all means to Alan's life I would never have given you up. I'm willing to take a few risks with my own life, just not with his. That's why I keep this up. You have to know that."

He did know that. It was a hard thing to miss, really. Especially given the fact that she'd only forgiven him for his attitude regarding their one sexual encounter when she'd found out she was pregnant with Alan. He knew, but it was a fact he hated to remember.

"Minerva, let's not make this any harder," he told her, unable to stop himself from returning the look she gave him.

"Honestly, Albus, I'm not particularly inclined to make your life easy right now."

"I can't be certain of you, but I'd rather not be forced to dwell on the fact that we both feel these things for one another, are both aware that we feel these things and yet can do nothing about it. I doubt you do either."

"No, I don't," she admitted. "I do too much for my own good anyway."

This was a conversation they should not have. Albus could feel it. It was dangerously open. Allowing their feelings for one another to gain too much exposure simply meant they were more likely to act on those feelings. That was something they most certainly could not do.

"I'm sure that eventually we will both move on," he said, not quite looking at her. He had a hard time even thinking of getting over Minerva, especially when she was only just across the room, looking at him with such quiet longing. Intellectually, however, he knew that was what must happen eventually. It was neither healthy nor probable that they spend the rest of their lives wishing to be with one another.

He'd been planning on heading to a subject change with this. He needed to do that before he became to preoccupied with thoughts of the woman before him. Right now the focus should be upon their son and the problem his knowledge presented.

"We should focus on our son."

"Yes, of course," Minerva agreed, looking away from him and clearing her throat. "We need to figure out what to do now that he knows about you."

An uncomfortable silence filled Minerva's office as both fell into thought. The argument which had been cut short by what both considered to be the unfortunate reminder of their love for one another began to filter back into both minds. They were on different sides of this issue. That often seemed to be the case where things concerned their son. They both agreed on the big issue, of course, but where the line should be drawn on their caution seemed to be a constant point of contention between them.

Minerva hated the entire situation. She was sick of arguing with Albus and she was sick of fighting the constant battle within herself over where the line was between prudent caution and complete paranoid insanity. She wanted Alan to know and be close to his father. It was something that, as his mother, she felt that he needed. It was not hard to sympathize with Albus' fears, though, either. If they were too careless then people would figure out their secret. In fact it was a constant fear of Minerva's that her own desires to see Alan and Albus develop a close relationship would lead to the wrong person finding out about their little family. There had been many nights when she'd woken up in a cold sweat to dreams filled with the realization of her worst fears.

There were times when she thought that perhaps Albus was right. He and Alan should remain as distant as possible, but just as soon as she would think those things she would dismiss it. Albus was the lad's father. She could not help but feel that a complete severance of that tie was both wrong and unhealthy. The line lay somewhere in the middle. She just had to find it.

Perhaps that was why she and Albus argued so constantly. Maybe that was the only way to find that line.

She was still sick of arguing with him. She loved him. No one really wanted to argue with someone they loved.

They could both feel the tension in the room, the threat of their argument breaking out again. Neither of them wanted to go back to arguing. It was both unpleasant and unproductive.

"Whether or not we do anything else, we should talk to him," stated Minerva finally. "We need to impress on him the importance of keeping this a secret. If we don't do that then he may tell before we have the chance to think of anything else to do."

"I agree. There's not much we can do, at least not quickly, though I must admit I'm not entirely certain of his ability to keep this a secret. I'm certain he would never tell intentionally but . . . he is very young."

"He's very smart, too," Minerva pointed out. "I think that if we explain it well enough, he will be able to grasp the gravity of the situation. He did figure this out after all. I think that speaks well to his capabilities."

"I'm sure he will grasp the situation intellectually, but from what I have observed through my years as a teacher, bright children have a tendency to mature intellectually at a far greater rate than emotionally. It is that which I worry about."

"What else can we do?"

Albus shook his head. He did not like the idea that they would be, for all practical purposes, scaring their son into keeping a secret. Nor would Minerva, but he was certain that was not a fact she had thought of. She would never have suggested the idea if she had. The thought of doing something like that would make her sick. She might not where her heart on her sleeve but he knew that it held very strong sway over her. He would not mention this to her. There was no need to give her more things to worry about. He could worry about what they were doing here just fine on his own. The situation with his family was never far from his mind anyway.

"Perhaps there is some spell that will help us. I will certainly look into the possibility. Until then, however, it seems that talking with him is all we can do."


	37. Alan, Age Three and a Half: Apprentice

"Hey, do you guys hear something?"

Peter looked around nervously. "I didn't hear anything. You don't think someone's there, do you?"

"Well, I heard something . . ."

"So did I," Sirius confirmed. "Didn't sound very big though. A house elf maybe? Sounds about like Kreacher does when he's sneaking up on you."

"Maybe. Let's hide. The last thing we need is to get caught."

Both other boys nodded in agreement and attention shifted to Peter. He was the best at hiding, he seemed to always know where to go to keep from being seen. It probably came from being the quietest and least noticeable of all of them. Even Remus made more of an impact on people than Peter did, and he was no loudmouth hooligan like James or Sirius.

"The empty classroom. The one just down the corridor. There's plenty of places to hide in there," Peter suggested, his voice whiny and nervous. More so than was usual at any rate.

"We can't go that way," Sirius hissed. "That's the way the footsteps are coming from. Think fo somewhere else."

A nervous squeak escaped Peter's lips and his beady little eyes began to look around nervously as his friends stared at him, waiting for him to suggest another place to hide. The plump boy could feel the sweat forming on his forehead as he tried to think of somewhere else to go. Why did the footsteps have to be coming from the direction of the empty classroom? Why? He was no good at thinking under pressure (or at all if you asked most people).

He tried hard to think of someplace new to go, but his thoughts always seemed to focus on the classroom he could not hide in.

"Come on, they're getting close."

It was true. Whoever it was indeed was coming closer. Peter could now hear the footsteps as well.

"He's not thinking of anything. Come on. Let's just move. If we don't, we're caught."

Sirius nodded and the two began moving in the opposite direction. Panicked, Peter followed them. They were going to get caught. He knew it. Then he would get in trouble. That was not at all what he wanted. He should have stayed in his dormitory. This time they were caught for sure.

And just then, it came to him. There was a secret passageway in the direction they were now moving. It was behind an old suit of armor that was so badly rusted it rarely moved. They would be safe in there. Relief poured over Peter. He was not caught. He was _safe_.

"In here!" He exclaimed in a sort of strangled whisper, indicating the suit of armor the passageway he wished to escape to.

"We can't hide in there. It'd only hold one of us," Sirius responded, disgusted.

"There's a passageway!"

"See, Sirius, even Peter's not that stupid."

An unpleasant smile covered Peter's face at James' words. He liked it when James praised him, even like that. It made him feel important.

Sirius snorted and followed James and Peter into the passageway.

Feeling intensely relieved at having found someplace to go, Peter continued to move quickly down the passageway. He wanted to put as much space as possible between he and his almost capture.

"Hey, James, what are you doing? Let's go, mate."

"I want to see who it was."

"He's insane!" Peter whimpered.

"Shut up or we'll be heard," James hissed.

A heavy silence fell as the footsteps came closer. Peter felt certain that James and Sirius, peeking out of the passageway, would get caught. The thought of making a run for it on his own occurred—but that was an even scarier thought than getting caught.

"Hey . . . It's a kid. What the hell?"

"A kid?"

"You must be seeing things," Peter told him. "We should go before we're caught."

"No," James breathed. "It's some kid. Look for yourselves."

Peter, who still wanted to simply run back to his nice, safe dormitory as fast as he could, stayed where he was. He refused to do something so blatantly dangerous. It couldn't be a kid. What kid wandered around the castle by itself in the middle of the night? What parent would let it? It was a preposterous idea. Sirius did not seemed to think it was possible, however, and went over to where James was peeking out into the corridor to see for himself.

"You're right, it's some little kid. What's he doing out there?"

James shrugged, and peered out again at the kid. Any fears he had of being caught had vanished upon finding out what it was the footsteps had belonged to and a moment later, he climbed out of the passageway and out into the corridor.

Peter thought he had gone completely mad. Who cared if it was a kid? A kid could still rat them out. He would if it had been him.

"Hey, kid, what are you doing roaming the school at night?"

The boy turned and a very surprised, familiar looking faced stared at James. Obviously this kid, whoever he was, had not expected anyone to discover him out and about.

"Who're you?"

"Can't tell you that," said Sirius, as he joined James in the corridor. "That's top secret."

"Oh," said the boy, and to both of the older boys' surprise he did not press further. Instead he simply examined them carefully, his eyes twinkling innocently and yet somehow managing to make both feel as though he was looking far deeper into them than it seemed a little kid like that should be able to. Not that either let it get to them. James and Sirius were fearless pranksters and not to be put off by something as simple as some three or four year old.

"So what are you doing roaming about?" James asked again.

"I'm going to go nick some sweets from the kitchen," the child replied with a pleased smile. "My mum told them not to give me sweets but Albus told them not to listen to her, so I go get sweets whenever I fancy."

"Albus?" Sirius questioned. "You mean the Headmaster? Why'd he do that?"

"He says that all little boys deserve their sweets and that my mum should 'loosen up.'"

"That sounds like something Dumbledore would do to me," James laughed. "He said the same thing when McGonagall dragged us all up to his office last week."

The boy giggled.

"What's so funny, ankle-biter?"

"That's my mum," he told them, smiling.

"Strict old McGonagall's son . . . Well, I never. Sneaking out to get some sweets from the kitchens, yeah? You do anything else your mum doesn't want you to do?"

A mischievous smile appeared on the young boy's face and he nodded. The twinkle in his hazel eyes seemed to brighten adding to the mischievous air about him

"That's priceless."

"I agree."

"Who knew that the old girl had it in her to produce such a fine young lad as this?"

"Not me."

"We can't let an opportunity like this pass us buy," said James, his expression serious.

"No we can't ," Sirius agreed, eyeing Alan with approval. "We must teach him, nurture his trouble-making spirit."

"Show him places to hide, teach him pranks to pull . . ."

"Make sure he helps make oily old Severus Snape's life a living hell . . ."

The two nodded gravely at each other, exchanging wicked smiles.

Sirius turned to Alan and looked directly into the child's eyes. "You are now our apprentice. All that we know, all of our tricks, hiding places . . . We will teach them to you."

"Wow!" Alan exclaimed. He liked it when older boys taught him things. His eldest cousin Mulciber sometimes taught him things and he loved that. The idea of these boys teaching him all of the things they had just said they would was very exciting.

"You have to keep it a secret, though. No telling your mum."

Alan nodded very seriously. "I'm good at keeping secrets."

"Good, because we can't have you just giving away all of our secrets."

Alan nodded again.

"Now what's your name?"

"Alan."

"Excellent. I'm Mr. Prongs."

"And I'm Mr. Padfoot. We'll be escorting you to the kitchens and then we need to be off to see another of our friends, Mr. Moony. You'll meet him later."

"Wicked."

"We're off then?"

"We're off."

The sound of footsteps moving away reached the listening ears of Peter, who was still hiding in the hidden passage behind the suit of armor.

_They're leaving me!_ He thought, scrambling out from the passageway. He needed to catch them. Rats weren't safe in this castle. There were too many prowling cats about. He needed someone to protect him.

"James! Sirius! Wait!"


	38. Alan, Age Three and a Half: Albus Copes

"Albus, for the last time, drop it."

"I will not. Not until you admit that I'm right."

Minerva shot him a very angry look. She hated it when he was stubborn. She wanted him to just give up and leave her alone about this, but he wouldn't. He'd be on about it for the past two days, though she really had no idea why he had been. It didn't make any sense to her.

"Albus, I've never noticed anything that—"

"If you will excuse me for saying this, my dear, you have never been particularly observant when it comes to the feelings of others."

Minerva fumed, furious that he had to be so right at such an inconvenient time. Why wouldn't he drop this? Shouldn't this be hard for him? Were their positions reversed she never would have come to him saying the same things as he was now.

"I think you're projecting your own feelings onto someone else," she replied calmly, ignoring the excellent point he had just made.

"Why would I do that?"

She snorted derisively. "You're asking the wrong person. Even if you are right—something I do not believe at all—I see no reason for you to be telling me this at all."

"I'm telling you because I thought it very possible that you might have noticed."

"Well that's not an answer at all, now is it?" She sighed heavily. "I really don't know why you're doing this Albus. Why so forcefully insist that I accept that another man is attracted to me?"

"In the hopes that you might, at the very least, allow him to pursue you."

Minerva felt her breath catch in her throat and her chest tighten. "Why would you want that?"

"For a number of reasons, really, but primarily because I love you as much as I do."

"That doesn't make any sense at all."

There were tears beginning to form in her eyes now, but she held them back. She'd cried far too many times over the past few years, worried for Alan's safety and scared of the thought that perhaps she was incapable of keeping her son safe from Albus enemies. She'd cried over Albus' himself as well, not nearly as often, but she had and she refused to do it right now. She kept a straight face.

"Of course it does. I love you, therefore I wish you to be safe and happy. As much as we may care for one another, pining away wishing for what we know is impossible does neither of us any good. So, having seen another man whom I believe to be of excellent character looking at you in the same way I do I have seen an opportunity. You're still young and have many years left ahead of you which I do not want wasted on me. It is best for you, and for our son, if you manage to attain a degree of separation from me and pursue a normal family existence."

"Why do you always push us away? I don't see how you can stand to always be telling me that I need to separate myself from you and to move on. I can hardly stand it when I hear the words leave your mouth. I don't know how you can even say them."

"It's not easy, Minerva. I know that sometimes you have a hard time believe that fact, but it's not easy for me to tell you these things. I want nothing more than to spend eternity with you, to raise our son together and to watch him as he becomes a man that any father would be proud to call his son. I can't have that, so I try and see that the next best thing occurs. All I want is for my family to be happy, safe and well cared for. That's why I do this."

"Albus," she began softly, sinking into the chair behind her desk. "I've been down this road before. I'm not certain I can be happy with someone else."

"Of course you can. I'm not perfect, Minerva. You know that. And human beings have very big hearts. If we let ourselves, we are capable of loving many people. Please let yourself. For me. For Alan as well. He needs a father figure. A real father figure, not some old man whom he dare not identify as his father. This is better for both of you."

"I'm still not certain."

"I can't have you wasting your life on me. Just because I am not in a position to move on, does not mean that you should not and I find nothing more painful than the thought that I am keeping you from something better."

She looked up at where he was standing, her eyes sad and resigned. "You're not going to give up on this are you?"

"I believe this is the right thing to do."

"Fine. If this will make you happy, then I'll do it. Maybe you're right anyway. Who knows. It can't hurt to try I suppose."

_At least not much._

/E/E/E/E/E/

Sometimes Albus wished, when he saw Minerva and her new beau together, that she had stayed stubborn. He wished that she would have stayed steadfast in her determination to have no other. Each time he would do his best to remind himself that this was exactly what he had told her to do. This was what was best for her.

It still hurt, though, and he found he could not help but be jealous of the other man. He shouldn't be. Professor Rixon Moriarty was a good person and really a far better match for Minerva than he himself was. The man was 55 years his junior, handsome and practical in much the same way that Minerva was. It had been a good decision to push Rixon and Minerva together.

But he wished he hadn't. Every time he saw Rixon with the mother of his son something within he screamed that he should hex this other wizard into oblivion. Minerva was his. How dare another man even think of touching her.

Then the other part of his brain, the practical part which always managed to keep a level view of things, would intervene and save him from doing anything he might regret later. Minerva was not his. It was presumptuous of him to even think of her that way. He'd made love to her once—and only once—overcome by his own weakness. That did not make her his and what a monster he was be thinking of it that way. Even if circumstances were not what they were, that night would not have made her his no matter what he sometimes imagined.

He did his best to avoid thinking of the situation. No amount of logical thought of how this was better for Minerva or how he had no right to feel as he did helped so he simply did his best to avoid it all together. He was careful to only see Minerva when she was alone and when he did happen upon her with Rix he quickly turned about and went back the way he came. He'd tried to deal with them together but all that did was make him go crazy. Instead he focused his mind elsewhere.

He'd made it his business to keep an eye on his son whenever Minerva was otherwise occupied. He babysat when she went out with her beau and he'd even begun to spend some of his free time watching him invisibly. It was not something he did often, between his duties at Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic he did not often have free time, but occasionally he found that he simply wanted to see his son. He'd never gotten to do that before. Every time Alan saw him, he would immediately drop everything to interact with his father. It was a rare enough treat that seeing Albus warranted such treatment. Only through invisibility did Albus ever get the opportunity to simply watch.

_This is the price I pay_, he thought one evening as he watched Minerva put their son to bed one night. _This is the price I pay for the ability to do good things in this world_.

Honestly, it wasn't really that bad. At least he had the ability to do this, to not miss out on quite everything even as he kept his distance.

Still, it wasn't easy. On occasion, a certain guilt crept into his consciousness at his actions, at the way he violated the privacy of the two people he cared about most in the world. It seemed wrong, but then so did the entire situation. Watching Minerva move on with someone else, missing so much of his son's growth . . .

The price he paid was a very high one indeed.

_A high price for a high gain_, he consoled himself. Defeating Grindelwald had made him a fair number of enemies, but the world was better for it. It was the same with Tom Riddle. His wariness had made him a very powerful enemy, but it was the right thing to do. The enemies he'd made in this way might threaten his family, but there were things he could and had done to protect them from those things. If he let the world decay into what either of those two men would want them to be then there would be no protecting anyone. The price he paid now was high, but the other price was far higher.

He would rather give up his family than have them and not stay wary of what he could not prove to be, but felt very strongly was, a very big threat. He just wished he knew enough now to quell it right here—that he could eliminate the threat to his family and stop pushing them away.

But Tom Riddle was nowhere to be found right now. All that Albus could ever find of him were faint whispers of a man named Lord Voldemort.

So he was resigned to this. Watching invisibly from the sidelines as his family lived their lives.

"Good night, wee one. I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, mum. I love you."

"I love you too. Sleep."

_And I_, thought Albus, _I also love you both_.

He watched quietly from his spot near the foot of his son's bed as Minerva killed the lights and left the room. He waited as his eyes adjusted to the small amount of light his son's night light gave off, then moved to the chair near Alan bed which Minerva had abandoned moments before.

He looked very peaceful when he was asleep. Most people did, of course, but there was something about a sleeping child that was particularly peaceful and touching. Especially when the child in question was your own.

What was that? He thought he'd seen Alan's eyes open, but he couldn't be certain. It had only been for a moment.

He began watching his son's face intently, focusing on his eyes. There it was again. That boy was definitely still awake. Awake and preparing to sneak out if he was correct. That was the sort of thing he and Aberforth had done around that age. Or attempted to do at least. They had often been caught. Had Minerva often been catching Alan sneaking out of bed and not telling him?

He watched curiously as his not quite four year old son climbed out of bed and tucked one of his pillows in, mimicking the form of a sleeping person. Albus was astonished. He and Aberforth had not thought to do that until Albus, the elder of the two, was at least a year or two older than Alan was now, if not older. Had his son really thought to do something like that on his own? It seemed to be a bit of a stretch, but then Albus was very aware of the fact that his son was quite bright.

He watched in wonder as his son sneaked from his room to Minerva's office undetected, employing more than one fairly sophisticated technique to avoid his mother's watchful eyes, and then sneaked from there out into the school. Where had he learned these things? There was no way he'd thought of all of this by himself. He was smart, but he was still just a little boy. Someone had taught him these things, but Albus had no idea who that could be—and it worried him. For all he knew this could be an attempt someone was making to capture, kill or otherwise harm his son.

He had not been following Alan long when he began to be able to discern four indistinct figures at the end of one of the corridors. Immediately he knew that they were the ones who had taught his son the tricks he'd demonstrated when sneaking out of his mother's quarters. He drew his wand, still following Alan as he headed straight towards the figures standing at the end of the corridor. If any of them did anything that look even remotely threatening, he would hex them into oblivion. Better safe than sorry.

"Come on, Alan, we've got a lot of stuff to show you tonight."

He recognized that voice. Its owner had been dragged unwillingly into his office more times than he wished to remember by Gryffindor's Head of House and Alan's own mother. Sirius Black. That could only mean the other figures were James Potter, Remus Lupin and what was that other boy's name? He was always tagging along after the other three, hero-worshiping James and Sirius . . . Petigrew? Yes, that sounded right. There was no doubt about it, the school's biggest troublemakers were the figures at the end of the corridor.

"I'm coming!" said Alan, speeding up to run toward the four waiting boys.

Albus followed quickly, wondering why his son had sneaked out to meet those four. Obviously they had taught him how to sneak away from his mother and he had a hard time believing they would wish to harm his son, but that didn't really explain what was happening here. Did Alan sneak out to meet these four often?

Alan skidded to a stop in front of the four, smiling brightly at the boys.

"Well, our apprentice has arrived. Let's get started."

"What are you teaching me?"

"You'll see. Come on, ankle-biter."

_Apprentice? The worst trouble-makers this school has ever seen and they've made my son their apprentice? Right under Minerva's nose? Merlin help those boys if she ever finds out._

No longer apprehensive about who it was his son was meeting, Albus decided it was high time he got back to his work and left, though not before casting a small spell insuring that he would be alerted if anything happened. He trusted the boys to not harm his son, but he did not want them to end up in a situation where they alone were protecting his only son from anyone who might wish to harm him—no matter how unlikely it was that the situation would arise.


	39. Alan, Age Five: Visit

Author's Note:

Well, here it is (finally), the next chapter of my story. I'm sorry I've not updated this is so long! College has really sucked up my time and I haven't really had any time to write for pleasure until my break. Hopefully now that I'm on break I can update regularly before I head back to school in January.

/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/E/

Minerva still wasn't sure exactly how she'd managed to get Albus to agree to the idea of she and their son spending a week over the summer holiday with him at his summer home but she knew better than to question such things. However she'd done it, or whatever it was in Albus that had made him see this as different from ideas with similar purpose, she knew it was best to simply be grateful. Such things did not happen often and she knew very well that it may very well be a long time—or never—before something like this occurred again.

"You really must never use this house, Albus. I swear it looks exactly as I remember it"

"You wouldn't have said that a few hours ago. I hadn't been here in the last three years until now. There was dust everywhere"

Three years. He hadn't been here at all in the past three years? It seemed amazing to Minerva, who returned to Scotland as often as her position as Deputy Headmistress allowed. It was true that she loved Hogwarts and spent more of her year there than most of the professors, even if it was partially from necessity, but she still returned home for some part of every summer. It was something she considered to be very important. Why had Albus not done the same? She knew he was a busy person—she more than anyone else knew that—but surely it must have been possible for him to slip away for at least a little while. He'd done it now. He'd not so much as suggested that they all just stay at Hogwarts together instead.

_And he's always accused me of overworking myself_, she thought with a snort. Albus Dumbledore was the biggest hypocrite she'd ever met in her life. He held everyone else to a decidedly different standard than he held himself to. She would never understand him. How could a man be so childish and frustrating and yet so very _responsible_ and frustrating at the same time. It just didn't make any sense. Not really.

_Why do I love you?_ she thought, looking at him. There were times when she really had to wonder about it, yet no matter how she wondered the feeling persisted in the same way all unstoppable forces did. She just loved him and there seemed to be no other explanation for it.

"Is Fawkes here?" asked Alan, gazing around Albus' summer home with disinterest. The beauty of the place was lost on a five year old, even one so bright as Albus and Minerva's son.

"He's upstairs, in my room. We'll take your things into your room and then I'll take you to see Fawkes. I'm sure he's missed you"  
Alan eyed Albus in confusion, auburn eyebrows drawn together and his hazel eyes pinning Albus in a manner very reminiscent of his mother. "But he was in my room just last week. He sang me to sleep. Didn't you know, Albus"

"No, I didn't"

"I thought you always knew what Fawkes was up to"

Albus shook his head. "Fawkes and I share a very close connection, but the nature of phoenixes is such that he always knows what I'm up to and I only usually know the same"

"But you know everything, Albus"

Minerva could see the discomfort on Albus' face. He couldn't just let Alan think that. Minerva knew that Albus simply wasn't the kind to not correct the boy and let him think of his father the superhuman sorts of things that all young boys thought of their fathers. He was touched by his son's faith in him---he always was touched when he saw Alan thinking of him the way a son would his father---but Minerva knew Albus well enough to know that he couldn't let Alan think he was perfect. It wasn't true and Albus rarely let people labor under false assumptions. He believed that was very bad for a person.

Minerva watched uncomfortably as Albus sighed, and placed himself at eye level with his son.

"No one knows everything, Alan. Not me and not your mother, either. Nobody's perfect"

"Okay," Alan replied, nodding but Minerva could see that he didn't really believe Albus. He simply wasn't ready to believe that sort of thing, especially about Albus. He was Alan's hero. That had been part of the reason why he'd been so sure Albus was his father, because he adored him so and wanted to be just like him.

Minerva did not look forward to the day when her son figured out exactly how imperfect she and Albus were---especially when he figured out Albus wasn't perfect. No parent eve di look forward to that sort of thing, it was true, but with her son's father it was a more complicated issue. Alan was not the only person in the world who thought Albus Dumbledore was perfect. Many adult witches and wizards thought the same thing. He was the greatest sorcerer in the world, the wizard who defeated Grindelwald. He cold do no wrong. Even Minerva had labored under that same false assumption when she'd first met him. When Alan discovered his father was not perfect, Albus would be falling from a greater height than most. Minerva honestly had no idea how she would deal with that time once it came. She doubted Alan would take it as she had. When she'd finally rid herself of that delusion her love for the man had grown because she'd suddenly realized that she was in love with a man rather than some sort of god. Alan, however, would be disappointed she was sure.  
"Your room is right over here," Albus said, pointing toward a room that mimicked very closely the one Alan had in his home in Scotland. "Your mother will be right next door and I will be across the hell from you just in case you need anything"

"Don't worry about me," Alan replied with a large smile, staring up proudly at his father. "I can take care of myself. Like you"

Albus smiled back at him and patted the boy on his head, proud despite of himself. Even his best efforts to distance himself from his son could not stop that, and his secret pleasure at hearing his son want to be like him stopped him from doing anything to discourage it. That was the case more often than not. It took a lot for him to do so. He simply wasn't as able to push his son away as he might have liked or even as much as he would have liked to have believed.

He wasn't perfect, after all.


	40. Alan, Age Five: A Child's Grasp

"So what did you think of ten-pin bowling dear boy?"

"No broomsticks," Alan told him, sullenly voicing his disapproval of any kind of sport less exciting than quidditch. Apparently when Alan heard the word 'sport' he expected broomsticks and bludgers—not something nearly so quiet as what occurred playing a game of ten-pin bowling.

"Perhaps he'll grow into it," Albus suggested, looking to Minerva.

"I wouldn't count on it, "she replied. Minerva had never understood Albus' love of ten-pin bowling anymore than her son. Like he, she felt that sports should be more riveting than rolling a ball at some pins. In a sport like that, there was little room for loud cheering or any kind of enthusiastic spirit—meaning it didn't really count as a sport at all.

Albus heaved a long-suffering sigh. "I can see you've managed to corrupt him after all. Here I thought the boy like to have _fun_."

"Oh, I assure you he has more interest in having 'fun' than I care for. I don't know where he's picked it up from, but he's developed a less than endearing taste for practical jokes."

Albus' eyes twinkled in amusement and he could not help but cast a quick glance downward at his son as the boy quickly smothered a smile. Obviously Misters Potter and Black had been teaching him well.

Minerva did not notice, however, and instead waited resolutely for Albus to respond. Obviously she thought Albus, not her House's most outrageous troublemakers, was behind Alan's behavior.

"Perhaps, he hasn't 'picked them up' from anywhere. Aberforth and I were always fond of a good practical joke as children."

_Now as well_, Minerva thought sourly, thinking of the last time she's sent Potter and Black to the Headmaster's office to be dealt with. That had been a complete disaster as far as she was concerned, and a mistake she was not likely to repeat anytime in the near future.

_All in good fun, indeed_.

"These jokes are very sophisticated, Albus."

"Well, Alan is very bright," Albus responded, smiling and picking the boy up. "Aren't you?"

"Just like you, Da."

For a moment, Albus' face froze, the wide smile he wore fixed solidly in place. Within seconds, however, the smile faded and was replaced by a look so frightened that it was hard to believe the great wizard was even capable of it.

"You must never call me that again."

"Why not?" Alan asked, confused by both Albus' words and his harsh tone of voice. He'd never heard his father speak that way before, least of all to him.

"Because it's dangerous!"

"But—"

"No arguments, Alan. Never again. Am I understood?"

"Yes," he answered, tears brimming in his hazel eyes. "I won't do it again. I promise."

"Good boy."

Minerva uttered a small sound of comfort and took Alan from Albus' arms, holding him close and kissing the top of his head. Though obviously trying not to, the five-year-old sobbed quietly off and on throughout the walk back to the house. Minerva simply held him close as they walked in silence, thinking intermittently about how big (and consequently heavy) Alan had gotten and what she could say to her son when they returned to Albus' summer home to ease the hurt.

/E/E/E/E/E/

"I don't understand, Mum. Why can't I call him Da sometimes? No one but Muggles were there."

"He worries a lot. He's afraid someone will find out."

"Doesn't he love me?"

"Of course he does!" Minerva exclaimed. "We both do. You know that, love."

"Then why is he so afraid of anyone finding out he's my Da?"

"Remember when you found out Albus was your father?" Minerva asked, wiping tears away from her son's flushed cheeks.

"Yes," he responded, hiccuping slightly.

"Remember the dangerous people we told you about and how they couldn't find out about who your Da was?"

"Yes, but there were only Muggles!"

"That was how it appeared but how do you know that's actually true?"

"They dressed like Muggles," Alan pointed out.

"How are we dressed right now, wee one?"

"Like Muggles," he replied with the annoyed air of one stating the obvious.

"And if we, a family of witches and wizards, can dress as Muggles, then what about other witches and wizards?"

"They can dress as Muggles too," Alan concluded. "Oh."

"He was just worried, love."

"He made me feel bad."

"I know," said Minerva, hugging the boy. "He didn't mean to."

/E/E/E/E/E/

"You upset him!"

"Better upset than dead. A few tears are worth his life to me. I'm sure you can agree with that."

"Of course I can," Minerva spat. "But that doesn't mean you can be unreasonable. You can apologize to him and still remain firm."

"I was protecting him! I did nothing wrong."

"This isn't about you being right or wrong! That has nothing to do with anything. No one's doubting that you were protecting him. This is about explaining to him why you did what you did!"

"These sorts of things happen in life. He will be better for it."

Minerva sighed and pinned him with her gaze. "He feels like you don't love him, Albus. Is that what you really want?"

"That's absurd!" Albus objected. "I love him a great deal. That's why I work so hard to protect him."

"You know that and I know that, but your son has started to wonder because of how you treated him. If you expect him to know then you had better tell him. He's only a child, very intelligent of course, but that doesn't mean that he can grasp the gravity of the situation—as easy as it is to forget that sometimes."

It was one of the few times Minerva had ever seen words fail Albus Dumbledore. He was so brilliant, charismatic and verbose that once upon a time she would never have thought such an occurrence possible. Yet now that the greying wizard had a son, such things occurred more frequently. It seemed that he could never be quite certain of how to achieve his intentions in the complex and emotionally tumultuous situation he found himself in in regard to his son. Failure of words were the least of his problems.

And with that, she left him standing silently in the hall, just beyond earshot of his son's bedroom.


End file.
